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LIB.7A3Y 

UNIVERSITY  OF 

CALIFORNIA 

SAN  DIEGO 
__ ' 


H.55 

A  65 


A  TNT    DELIGHTS    SCHOOL. 


PETER    PARLEY'S 


OWN    STORY. 


FROM  THE  PERSONAL  NARRATIVE   OF  THE  LATE 
SAMUEL   G.    GOODRICH,   ("PETER  PARLEY.") 


W.\i\i  Illustrations. 


NEW    YORK: 

PUBLISHED  BY  SHELDON  &  COMPANY, 

335  BROADWAY,  COB.   WORTH  ST. 

1864. 


ENTERED  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1863,  by 

THE  HEIRS  OF  8.  G.  GOODKICH, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States,  for 
the  Southern  District  of  New  York. 


KLKOTBOTTPKD  BY  SMITH  &  MoDouGAL,  82  &  84  BEKKMAN  Br. 
PEINTED  BY  C.  8.  "WESTCOTT  &  Co..  79  JOHN  ST. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  L 

PAOB 

Birth  and  Parentage— The  Old  House — Ridgefleld — The  Meeting-house 
— Parson  Mead  —  Keeler's  Tavern  —  The  Cannon-ball  —  Lieutenant 
Smith...  » 


CHAPTER  II. 

The  New  House — High  Eidge — Nathan  Kellogg's  Spy-glass — The  Shovel 
—The  Black  Patch  in  the  Eoad— Distrust  of  British  Influence— Old 
Chich-es-ter — Aunt  Delight — Return  after  Twenty  Years. 16 


CHAPTER  IH. 

Kidgefleld  Society — Trades  and  Professions — Chimney  Corner  Courtships 
— Domestic  Economy  —  Dram-drinking  —  Family  Products  —  Molly 
Gregory  and  Church  Music  —  Travelling  Artisans — Festival  of  the 
Quilts— Clerical  Patronage — Raising  a  Church — The  Retired  Tailor  and 
HisFarm 80 


CHAPTER  IT. 

Habits  of  the  People— Their  Costume— Amusements— Festivals — Mar 
riages—Funerals — Dancing — Winter  Sports — My  Two  Grandmothers 
— Mechanical  Genius— Importance  of  Whittling— Pigeons— Sporting 
Adventures .  46 


IV  CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  V.       • 

PA9B 

Death  of  Washington— Jerome  Bonaparte  and  Miss  Patterson— Sunday 
Travelling— Oliver  Wolcott— Timothy  Pickering— American  Politeness 
quite  natural— Locomotion— Public  Conveyances— My  Father's  Chaise  68 


CHAPTER  VI. 

The  Upper  and  Lower  Classes  of  Ridgefield — Master  Stebbins  and  hlB 
School — What  is  a  Noun  ?— Deacon  Benedict  and  his  Man  Abijah — My 
Latin  Acquirements— Family  Worship — Widow  Bennett — The  Temple 
of  Dagon 65 


CHAPTER  VII. 
The  Clergy  of  Fairfield— A  Laughing  Parson— The  Three  Deacons 79 

CHAPTER  VHL 

Mat  Olmstead,  the  Town  Wit— The  Salamander  Hat— Solar  Eclipse- 
Lieutenant  Smith — Extraordinary  Meteor — Fulton  and  his  Steam-boat 
— Granther  Baldwin  and  his  Wife — Sarah  Bishop  and  her  Cave 87 

CHAPTER  IX. 

Farewell  to  Home — Danbury — My  New  Vocation — My  Brother-in-law — 
His  Conversations  with  Lawyer  Hatch— Clerical  Anecdotes 108 

CHAPTER  X. 

New  Haven — Distinguished  Men — Whitney's  Cotton-gin—Durham — My 
Grandmother's  Indian  Pudding— In  Search  of  a  Doctor— Return  to 
Danbury — The  Cold  Friday— Factory  Workmen — Mathematics 117 

CHAPTER  XI. 

Arrival  at  Hartford— My  Occupation  there Restlessness — My  Friend 

George  Sheldon 12* 


CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  XII. 


PASB 


Wat  with  England— In  the  Army — My  Uncle's  Advice — Campaigning — 
On  the  March— Our  Military  Coetume— My  first  Soldier's  Supper 184 


CHAPTER 

New  London— Our  Military  Reputation— Sent  with  a  Letter— British 
Cannon-balls — Out  of  Harm's  Way — An  Alarm — On  Guard — Take  a 
Prisoner — Strange  Emotions— My  Left-hand  Chum— A  Grateful  Coun 
try 188 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

Effects  of  War  in  New  England  —  Personal  Experience  —  News  of  Peace  — 
Illuminations  —  Confessions  ..........................................  145 


CHAPTER  XV. 

Evil  Effects  of  Night  Study—  Commencement  of  a  Literary  Career  — 
Thoughts  on  Dancing—  New  York  —  Saratoga  —  Death  of  my  Uncle  — 
Become  a  Bookseller—  Cold  Summer—  T'  other  Side  of  Ohio  ..........  149 


CHAPTER  XVL 

Marriage— Walter  Scott— Byron— Sidney  Smith's  Taunt— Publication  of 
Original  American  Works— Mrs.  Sigourney 159 


CHAPTER  XVIL 

Domestic  Troubles— Sketch  of  Brainard— Aunt  Lucy's  Back  Parlor— 
The  fall  of  Niagara— Death  of  Brainard : 184 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

My  First  Visit  to  Europe — Hurricane — Arrival  at  Liverpool — London — 
Travel  on  the  Continent — Return  to  Bristol — Interview  with  Hannah 
More— Design  in  Travelling— Visit  to  Ireland  and  Scotland. 1T2 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

PAGE 

The  Etlinburgh  Lions — Literary  Celebrities — Jeffrey  in  the  Forum — Sir 
"Walter  at  the  Desk— Biding  with  Scotch  Ladies— Beautiful  Scenery—     , 
A  Scotch  Mist 17» 


CHAPTER  XX. 

Blaekwood — The  General  Assembly— Sir  Walter  Scott — Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Lockhart— Origin  of  "Tarn  O'Shanter"— Last  Words  of  Scott 187 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

En  Boute  for  London — u  The  Laird  o'  Cockpen" — Localities  of  Legendary 
Fame — Difference  between  English  and  American  Scenery 195 


CHAPTER   XXII. 

London  again — Jacob  Perkins  and  his  Steam-gun — Dukes  of  Wellington, 
Sussex,  and  Tork — British  Ladies  at  a  Beview — House  of  Commons 
and  its  Orators — Catalan!— Distinguished  Foreigners— Edward  Irving 
compared  to  Edmund  Kean — Byron  lying  in  State 208 


CHAPTER  XXHI. 

Beturn  to  the  United  States — Boston  and  its  Worthies— Business  Opera 
tions — Ackermann  s  Forget-me-Not  the  Parent  of  all  other  Annuals — 
The  American  Species— Their  Decline 216 


CHAPTER  XXIY. 

"  The  Token" — N.  P.  Willis  and  Nathaniel  Hawthorne — Comparison  be 
tween  them — Lady  Authors — Publishers'  Profits— Authors  and  Pub 
lishers...  222 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

I  become  an  Author — His  real  Name  a  profound  Secret — How  it  was  dl 
vulged — Great  Success — Illness — The  Doctors  disagree — English  Imita 
tions — Conduct  of  a  London  Bookseller — Objections  to  Parley's  Tales — 
Mother  Goo«e , 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

PAOB 

Children  my  first  Patrons—  A  Visit  to  New  Orleans—  Feelings  of  Humil 
iation  —  The  Mice  eat  my  Papers  —  A  Wrong  Calculation  ..............  251 


CHAPTER  XXVH. 

I  make  a  Speech—  Lecture  on  Ireland  —  Personal  Attacks  —  Become  a 
Senator  —  The  "Fifteen  Gallon  Law"  —  A  Pamphlet  in  its  Favor  —  "My 
Neighbor  Smith"—  A  Political  Career  unprofitable  ...............  .'....  257 

CHAPTER  XXVIIL 

Am  appointed  U.  8.  Consul  to  Paris—  Louis  XVIII.  —  A  few  Jottings 
upon  French  Notabilities  —  Cure  for  Hydrocephalus  —  Unsettled  State 
of  Things  in  Paris  ..................................................  266 

CHAPTER  XXIX. 

Louis  Philippe  and  the  Revolution  —  List  of  Grievances  —  The  Mob  at  the 
Madeleine  —  Barricades  —  "Down  with  Guizotl"  —  The  Fight  com 
menced  —  Flight  of  the  King  and  Queen  —  Scene  in  the  Chamber  of 
Deputies—  Sack  of  the  Tuileries  .....................................  274 

CHAPTER  XXX. 

After  the  Eevolution  —  "Funeral  of  the  Victims"  —  The  Constituent  As-  .. 
sombly  —  Paris  in  a  State  of  Siege  —  Cavaignac  —  Louis  Napoleon  chosen 
President  ...........................................................  296 

CHAPTER  yXXT. 

The  Author's  Duties  as  Consul—  Aspect  of  Things  in  Paris—  Louis  Napo 
leon's  Designs—  The  3d  of  December,  1852—  The  New  Reign  of  Terror 
complete  —  Louis  Napoleon  as  Emperor  —  Out  of  Office  —  Return  to  New 
York—  Conclusion  ........  .  .........................................  801 


CHAPTER  XXXTT. 
The  Death  of  Peter  Parley  ...........................................  818 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 


AUNT   DELIGHT (JfronUtpieet) 

MAKING  MAPLE  SUGAR 8T 

DEACON  OLMSTEAD. 82 

FIRST  ADVENTURE  ON  THE  SEA 119 

THE  COLD  FRIDAY 124 

WHITTLING...  ..  167 


PETER  PARLEY'S  OWN  STORY, 


CHAPTEE    I. 

BIRTH    AND     PARENTAGE  —  THB    OLD    HOUSE — BIDOEFIKLD THE    MEETING- 

BOUSE — PAB8ON     MEAD — KEELEB'S     TAVEBN — THE     CANNON-BALL — LIEU 
TENANT   SMITH. 

IN  the  western  part  of  the  State  of  Connecticut  is  a 
small  town  named  Ridgefield.  This  title  is  descriptive, 
and  indicates  the  general  form  and  position  of  the  place. 
It  is,  in  fact,  a  collection  of  hills,  rolled  into  one  general 
and  commanding  elevation.  On  the  west  is  a  ridge  of 
mountains,  forming  the  boundary  between  the  States  of 
Connecticut  and  New  York ;  to  the  south  the  land 
spreads  out  in  wooded  undulations  to  Long  Island 
Sound  ;  east  and  north,  a  succession  of  hills,  some  rising 
up  against  the  sky  and  others  fading  away  in  the  dis 
tance,  bound  the  horizon.  In  this  town,  in  an  antiquated 
and  rather  dilapidated  house  of  shingles  and  clapboards, 
I  was  born  on  the  19th  of  August,  1793. 

My  father,  Samuel  Goodrich,  was  minister  of  the  Con 
gregational  Church  of  that  place,  and  there  was  no 
other  religious  society  and  no  other  clergyman  in  the 
town.  He  was  the  son  of  Elizur  Goodrich,  a  distin 
guished  minister  of  the  same  persuasion  at  Durham, 
Connecticut.  Two  of.  his  brothers  were  men  of  emi- 


10  PETER     PARLEY'S 

nence — the  late  Chauncey  Goodrich  of  Hartford,  and 
Elizur  Goodrich  of  New  Haven.  My  mother  was  a 
(laughter  of  John  Ely,  a  physician  of  Say  brook,  whose 
name  figures,  not  unwoithily,  in  the  annals  of  the  revo 
lutionary  war. 

I  was  the  sixth  child  of  a  family  of  ten  children,  two 
of  whom  died  in  infancy,  and  eight  of  whom  lived  to  be 
married  and  settled  in  life.  My  father's  annual  salary 
for  the  first  twenty-five  years,  and  during  his  ministry  at 
Ridgefield,  averaged  four  hundred  dollars  a-year :  the 
last  twenty-five  years,  during  which  he  was  settled  at 
Berlin,  near  Hartford,  his  stipend  was  about  five  hundred 
dollars  a-year.  He  was  wholly  without  patrimony,  and 
owing  to  peculiar  circumstances,  which  will  be  hereafter 
explained,  my  mother  had  not  even  the  ordinary  outfit 
when  they  began  their  married  life.  Yet  they  so 
brought  up  their  family  of  eight  children,  that  they  all 
attained  respectable  positions  in  life,  and  at  my  father's 
death  he  left  an  estate  of  four  thousand  dollars.  These 
facts  throw  light  upon  the  simple  annals  of  a  country 
clergyman  in  Connecticut,  half-a-century  ago  ;  they  also 
bear  testimony  to  the  thrifty  energy  and  wise  frugality 
of  my  parents,  and  especially  of  my  mother,  who  was 
the  guardian  deity  of  the  household. 

Ridgefield  belongs  to  the  county  of  Fairfield,  and  is 
now  a  handsome  town,  as  well  on  account  of  its  artificial 
as  its  natural  advantages ;  with  some  two  thousand  in 
habitants.  It  is  fourteen  miles  from  Long  Island  Sound, 
of  which  its  many  swelling  hills  afford  charming  views. 
The  main  street  is  a  mile  in  length,  and  is  now  em 
bellished  with  several  handsome  houses.  About  the 
middle  of  it  there  is,  or  was,  some  forty  years  ago,  a 
white,  wooden  Meeting-house,  which  belonged  to  my 


OWNSTORT.  11 

father's  congregation.  It  stood  in  a  small  grassy  square, 
the  favorite  pasture  of  numerous  flocks  of  geese,  and  the 
frequent  playground  of  school-boys,  especially  on  Sunday 
afternoons.  Close  by  the  front  door  ran  the  public  road, 
and  the  pulpit,  facing  it,  looked  out  upon  it  on  fair  sum 
mer  Sundays,  as  I  well  remember  by  a  somewhat 
amusing  incident. 

In  the  contiguous  town  of  Lower  Salem  dwelt  an  aged 
minister,  by  the  name  of  Mead.  He  was  all  his  life 
marked  with  eccentricity,  and  about  those  days  of  which 
I  speak,  his  mind  was  rendered  yet  more  erratic  by  a 
touch  of  paralysis.  He  was,  however,  still  able  to  preach, 
and  on  a  certain  Sunday,  having  exchanged  with  my 
father,  he  was  in  the  pulpit  and  engaged  in  making  his 
opening  prayer.  He  had  already  begun  his  invocation, 
when  David  P ,  who  was  the  Jehu  of  that  genera 
tion,  dashed  by  the  front  door  upon  a  horse,  a  clever 
animal,  of  which  he  was  but  too  proud — in  a  full,  round 
trot.  The  echo  of  the  clattering  hoofs  filled  the  church, 
which,  being  of  wood,  was  sonorous  as  a  drum,  and 
arrested  the  attention,  as  well  of  the  minister  as  the  con 
gregation,  even  before  the  rider  had  reached  it.  The 
minister  was  fond  of  horses,  almost  to  frailty  ;  and,  from 
the  first,  his  practised  ear  perceived  that  the  sounds  came 
from  a  beast  of  bottom.  When  the  animal  shot  by  the 
door,  he  could  not  restrain  his  admiration ;  which  was 
accordingly  thrust  into  the  very  marrow  of  his  prayer 
"We  pray  Thee,  O  Lord,  in  a  particular  and  peculiar 
manner — thafs  a  real  smart  critter-^-to  forgive  us  our 
manifold  trespasses,  in  a  particular  and  peculiar  man 
ner,"  &c. 

I  have  somewhere  heard  of  a  traveller  on  horseback, 
who,  just  at  eventide,  being  uncertain  of  his  road,  in- 


12  PETER     PARLEY'S 

quired  of  a  person  he  chanced  to  meet,  the  way  to 
Barkhamstead. 

"  You  are  in  Barkhamstead  now,"  was  the  reply. 

"  Yes,  but  where  is  the  centre  of  the  place  ¥' 

"  It  hasn't  got  any  centre." 

"  Well,  but  direct  me  to  the  tavern." 

"  There  ain't  any  tavern."  „ 

"  Yes,  but  the  meeting-house  ?" 

"  Why  didn't  you  ask  that  afore  ?  There  it  is,  over 
the  hill !" 

"So,  in  those  days,  in  Connecticut,  as  doubtless  in 
other  parts  of  JSfew  England,  the  meeting-house  was  the 
great  geographical  monument,  the  acknowledged  me 
ridian  of  every  town  and  village.  Even  a  place  without 
a  centre,  or  a  tavern,  had  its  house  of  worship  ;  and  this 
was  its  point  of  reckoning.  It  was,  indeed,  something 
more.  It  was  the  town-hall,  where  all  public  meetings 
were  held  for  civil  purposes ;  it  was  the  temple  of  re 
ligion,  the  pillar  of  society,  religious,  social,  and  moral, 
to  the  people  around.  It  will  not  be  considered  strange, 
then,  if  I  look  back  to  the  meeting-house  of  Ridgefield, 
as  not  only  a  most  revered  edifice,  but  as  in  some  sense 
the  starting-point  of  my  existence.  Here,  at  least,  linger 
many  of  my  most  cherished  remembrances. 

A  few  rods  to  the  south  of  this  there  was,  and  still  is, 
a  tavern,  kept  in  my  day  by  Squire  Keeler.  This  insti 
tution  ranked  second  only  to  the  meeting-house  ;  for  the 
tavern  of  those  days  was  generally  the  centre  of  news, 
and  the  gathering-place  for  balls,  musical  entertainments, 
public  shows,  &c. ;  and  this  particular  tavern  had  special 
claims  to  notice.  It  was,  in  the  first  place,  on  the  great 
thoroughfare  of  the  day,  between  Boston  and  New 
York ;  and  had  become  a  general  and  favorite  stopping- 


OWN     8T  O  RT.  13 

place  for  travellers.  It  was,  moreover,  kept  by  a  hearty 
old  gentleman,  who  united  in  his  single  person  the  varied 
functions  of  publican,  postmaster,  representative,  justice 
of  the  peace,  and  I  know  not  what  else.  He,  besides, 
had  a  thrifty  wife,  whose  praise  was  in  all  the  land.  She 
loved  her  customers,  especially  members  of  Congress, 
governors,  and  others  in  authority  who  wore  powder  and 
white  top-boots,  and  who  migrated  to  and  fro  in  the  lofty 
leisure  of  their  own  coaches.  She  was,  indeed,  a  woman 
of  mark ;  and  her  life  has  its  moral.  She  scoured  and 
scrubbed,  and  kept  things  going,  until  she  was  seventy 
years  old ;  at  which  time,  during  an  epidemic,  she  was 
threatened  with  an  attack.  She,  however,  declared  that 
she  had  not  time  to  be  sick,  and  kept  on  working ;  so 
that  the  disease  passed  her  by,  though  it  made  sad  havoc 
all  around  her,  especially  with  more  dainty  dames  who 
had  leisure  to  follow  the  fashion. 

Besides  all  this,  there  was  an  historical  interest  at 
tached  to  Keeler's  tavern  ;  for,  deeply  imbedded  in  the 
north-eastern  corner-post,  there  was  a  cannon-ball,  plant 
ed  there  during  the  famous  fight  with  the  British  in 
1777.  It  was  one  of  the  chief  historical  monuments  of 
the  town,  and  was  visited  by  all  curious  travellers  who 
came  that  way.  Little  can  the  present  generation  im 
agine  with  what  glowing  interest,  what  ecstatic  wonder, 
what  big,  round  eyes,  the  rising  generation  of  Ridgefield, 
half  a  century  ago,  listened  to  the  account  of  the  fight, 
as  given  by  Lieutenant  Smith,  himself  a  witness  of  the 
event  and  a  participator  in  the  conflict,  sword  in  hand. 

This  personage,  whom  I  shall  have  occasion  again  to 
introduce  to  my  readers,  was,  in  my  time,  a  justice  of 
the  peace,  town  librarian,  and  general  oracle  in  such 
loose  matters  as  geography,  history,  and  law;  then 


14  PETEK     PARLEY'S 

about  as  uncertain  and  unsettled  in  Ridgefield,  as  is  now 
the  longitude  of  Lilliput.  He  had  a  long,  lean  face ; 
long,  lank,  silvery  hair ;  and  an  unctuous,  whining 
voice.  With  these  advantages,  he  spoke  with  the  au 
thority  of  a  seer,  and  especially  in  all  things  relating  to 
the  revolutionary  war. 

The  agitating  scenes  of  that  event,  so  really  great  in 
itself,  so  unspeakably  important  to  the  country,  had 
transpired  some  five-and-twenty  years  before.  The  ex 
isting  generation  of  middle  age  had  all  witnessed  it; 
nearly  all  had  shared  in  its  vicissitudes.  On  every  hand 
there  were  corporals,  Serjeants,  lieutenants,  captains,  and 
colonels,  no  strutting  fops  in  militia  buckram,  raw  blue 
and  buff,  all  fuss  and  feathers,  but  soldiers,  men  who  had 
seen  service  and  won  laurels  in  the  tented  field.  Every 
old  man,  every  old  woman,  had  stories  to  tell,  radiant 
with  the  vivid  realities  of  personal  observation  or  ex 
perience.  Some  had  seen  Washington,  and  some  Old 
Put ;  one  was  at  the  capture  of  Ticonderoga  under 
Ethan  Allen ;  another  was  at  Bennington,  and  actually 
heard  old  Stark  say,  "Victory  this  day,  or  my  wife 
Molly  is  a  widow  !"  Some  were  at  the  taking  of  Stony 
Point,  and  others  in  the  sanguinary  struggle  of  Mon- 
mouth.  One  had  witnessed  the  execution  of  Andre, 
and  another  had  been  present  at  the  capture  of  Bur- 
goyne.  The  time  which  had  elapsed  since  these  events 
had  served  only  to  magnify  and  glorify  these  scenes,  as 
well  as  the  actors,  especially  in  the  imagination  of  the 
rising  generation.  If  perchance  we  could  now  dig  up 
and  galvanize  into  life  a  contemporary  of  Julius  Caesar, 
who  was  present  and  saw  him  cross  the  Rubicon,  and 
could  tell  us  how  he  looked  and  what  he  said,  we  should 
listen  with  somewhat  of  the  greedy  wonder  with  which. 


OWN      STORY.  15 

the  boys  of  Ridgefield  listened  to  Lieutenant  Smith, 
when  of  a  Saturday  afternoon,  seated  on  the  stoop  of 
Keeler's  tavern,  he  discoursed  upon  the  discovery  of 
America  by  Columbus,  Braddock's  defeat,  and  the  old 
French  war ;  the  latter  a  real  epic,  embellished  with 
romantic  episodes  of  Indian  massacres  and  captivities. 
When  he  came  to  the  Revolution,  and  spoke  of  the  fight 
at  Ridgefield,  and  punctuated  his  discourse  with  a  pres 
ent  cannon-ball,  sunk  six  inches  deep  in  a  corner-post  of 
the  very  house  in  which  we  sat,  you  may  well  believe  it 
was  something  more  than  words — it  was,  indeed,  "action, 
action,  glorious  action !"  How  little  can  people  now-a- 
days  comprehend  or  appreciate  these  things ! 


CHAPTER   II. 

90*  NEW  HOUSE—HIGH  BIDOE— NATHAK  XELLOGG's  SFYOLAS6— TOT 
SHOVEL— THB.  BLACK  PATCH  IN  THIS  HOAD — DISTEU6T  OF  Bl'.ITISB 
INFLUENCE — OLD  CHICH-B8-TER — AUNT  DELIGHT — 11ETUKN  AFTEB  TWENTt 
TEARS. 

Mr  memory  goes  distinctly  back  to  the  year  1797, 
•when  I  was  four  years  old.  At  that  time  a  great  event 
happened — great  in  the  narrow  horizon  of  childhood : 
we  removed  from  the  Old  House  to  the  New  House ! 
This  latter,  situated  on  a  road  tending  westward  and 
branching  from  the  main  street,  my  father  had  just  built ; 
and  it  then  appeared  to  me  quite  a  stately  mansion  and 
very  beautiful,  inasmuch  as  it  was  painted  red  behind  and 
white  in  front :  most  of  the  dwellings  thereabouts  being 
of  the  dun  complexion  which  pine-boards  and  chestnut- 
shingles  assume,  from  exposure  to  the  weather.  Long 
after,  having  been  absent  twenty  years,  I  revisited  this 
my  early  home,  and  found  it  shrunk  into  a  very  small  and 
ordinary  two-story  dwelling,  wholly  divested  of  its  paint, 
and  scarcely  thirty  feet  square. 

This  building,  apart  from  all  other  dwellings,  was 
situated  on  what  is  called  High  Ridge,  a  long  hill,  look 
ing  down  upon  the  village,  and  commanding  an  exten 
sive  view  of  the  surrounding  country.  From  our  upper 
windows,  this  was  at  once  beautiful  and  diversified.  On 
the  south,  as  I  have  said,  the  hills  sloped  in  a  sea  of 


PKTEE    PARLEY'S    OWN    STORY.        17 

undulations  down  to  Long  Island  Sound,  a  distance  of 
some  fourteen  miles.  This  beautiful  sheet  of  water,  like 
a  strip  of  pale  sky,  with  the  island  itself,  more  deeply 
tinted,  beyond,  was  visible  in  fair  weather,  for  a  stretch 
of  sixty  miles,  to  the  naked  eye.  The  vessels,  even  the 
smaller  ones,  sloops,  schooners,  and  fishing-craft,  could 
be  seen,  creeping  like  insects  over  the  surface.  With  a 
spy-glass — and  my  father  had  one  bequeathed  to  him  by 
Nathan  Kellogg,  a  sailor,  who  made  rather  a  rough  voy 
age  of  life,  but  anchored  at  last  in  the  bosom  of  the 
Church,  as  this  bequest  intimates — we  could  see  the 
masts,  sails,  and  rigging.  It  was  a  poor,  dim  affair,  com 
pared  with  modern  instruments  of  the  kind  ;  but  to  me, 
its  revelations  of  an  element  which  then  seemed  as 
beautiful,  as  remote,  and  as  mystical  as  the  heavens,  sur 
passed  the  wonders  of  the  firmament. 

To  the  west,  at  a  distance  of  three  miles,  lay  the  undu 
lating  ridge  of  hills,  cliffs,  and  precipices  already  men 
tioned,  and  which  bear  the  name  of  West  Mountain. 
They  are  some  five  hundred  feet  in  height,  and  from  our 
point  of  view  had  an  imposing  appearance.  Beyond 
them,  in  the  far  distance,  glimmered  the  peaks  of  the 
highlands  along  the  Hudson.  These  two  prominent 
features  of  the  spreading  landscape — the  sea  and  the 
mountain,  ever  present,  yet  ever  remote — impressed  them 
selves  on  my  young  imagination  with  all  the  enchant 
ment  which  distance  lends  to  the  view.  I  have  never 
lost  my  first  love.  Never,  even  now,  do  I  catch  a  glimpse 
of  either  of  these  two  rivals  of  nature,  such  as  I  first 
learned  them  by  heart,  but  I  feel  a  gush  of  emotion  as  if 
I  had  suddenly  met  with  the  cherished  companions  of 
my  childhood.  In  after  days,  even  the  purple  velvet  of 
the  Apennines  and  the  poetic  azure  of  the  Mediterranean, 


18  PETER     PARLEY'S 

have  derived  additional  beauty  to  my  imagination  from 
mingling  with  these  vivid  associations  of  my  childhood. 

It  was  to  the  New  House,  then,  thus  situated,  that 
we  removed,  as  I  have  stated,  when  I  was  four  years  old. 
On  that  great  occasion,  everything  available  for  draught 
or  burden  was  put  in  requisition  ;  and  I  was  permitted, 
or  required,  I  forget  which,  to  carry  the  peel,  as  it  was 
then  called,  but  which  would  now  bear  the  title  of 
"  shovel."  Birmingham  had  not  then  been  heard  of  in 
those  parts,  or  at  least  was  a  great  way  off;  so  this 
particular  utensil  had  been  forged  expressly  for  my  father 
by  David  Olmstead,  the  blacksmith,  as  was  the  custom  in 
those  days.  I  recollect  it  well,  and  can  state  that  it  was 
a  sturdy  piece  of  iron,  the  handle  being  four  feet  long, 
with  a  knob  at  the  end.  As  I  carried  it  along,  I  doubt 
less  felt  a  touch  of  that  consciousness  of  power  which 
must  have  filled  the  breast  of  Samson  as  he  bore  off  the 
gates  of  Gaza.  I  recollect  perfectly  well  to  have  per 
spired  under  the  operation,  for  the  distance  of  our  migra 
tion  was  half-a-mile,  and  the  season  was  summer. 

One  thing  more  I  remember  :  I  was  barefoot ;  and  as 
we  went  up  the  lane  which  diverged  from  the  main  road 
to  the  house,  we  passed  over  a  patch  of  earth  blackened 
by  cinders,  where  my  feet  were  hurt  by  pieces  of  melted 
glass  and  metal.  I  inquired  what  this  meant,  and  was 
told  that  here  a  house  was  burned  down  by  the  British 
troops  already  mentioned,  and  then  in  full  retreat,  as  a 
signal  to  the  ships  that  awaited  them  in  the  Sound, 
where  they  had  landed,  and  where  they  intended  to 
embark. 

This  detail  may  seem  trifling ;  but  it  is  not  without 
significance.  It  was  the  custom  in  those  days  for  boys 
to  go  oarefoot  in  the  mild  season.  I  recollect  few  things 


OWN      STORY.  19 

in  life  more  delightful  than,  in  the  spring,  to  cast  away 
my  shoes  and  stockings,  and  have  a  glorious  scampei 
over  the  fields.  Many  a  time,  contrary  to  the  express 
injunctions  of  my  mother,  have  I  stolen  this  bliss ;  and 
many  a  time  have  I  been  punished  by  a  severe  cold  for 
my  disobedience.  Yet  the  bliss  then  seemed  a  com 
pensation  for  the  retribution.  In  these  exercises  I  felt  as 
if  stepping  on  air  ;  as  if  leaping  aloft  on  wings.  I  was 
so  impressed  with  the  exultant  emotions  thus  experienced, 
that  I  repeated  them  a  thousand  times  in  happy  dreams ; 
especially  in  my  younger  days.  Even  now  these  visions 
sometimes  come  to  me  in  sleep,  though  with  a  lurking 
consciousness  that  they  are  but  a  mockery  of  the  past; 
sad  monitors  of  the  change  which  time  has  wrought  upon 
me. 

As  to  the  black  patch,  in  the  lane,  that,  too,  had  its 
meaning.  The  story  of  a  house  burned  down  by  a 
foreign  army  seized  upon  my  imagination.  Every  time 
I  passed  the  place  I  ruminated  upon  it,  and  put  a  hun 
dred  questions  as  to  how  and  when  it  happened.  I  was 
soon  master  of  the  whole  story,  and  of  other  similar 
events  which  had  occurred  all  over  the  country.  I  was 
thus  initiated  into  the  spirit  of  that  day,  and  which  has 
never  wholly  subsided  in  our  country ;  inasmuch  as  the 
war  of  the  Revolution  was  alike  unjust  in  its  origin,  and 
cruel  as  to  the  manner  in  which  it  was  waged.  It  was, 
moreover,  fought  on  our  own  soil ;  thus  making  the 
whole  people  share,  personally,  in  its  miseries.  There 
was  scarcely  a  family  in  Connecticut  whom  it  did  not 
visit,  either  immediately  or  remotely,  with  the  shadows 
of  mourning  and  desolation.  The  British  nation,  to 
whom  this  conflict  was  a  foreign  war,  are  slow  to  com 
prehend  the  popular  dislike  of  Engand,  here  in  America. 


20  PETER     PARLEY'S 

Could  they  know  the  familiar  annals  of  our  towns  and 
villages — burn,  plundered,  sacked — with  all  the  attendant 
horrors,  for  the  avowed  purpose  of  punishing  a  nation  01 
rebels,  and  those  rebels  of  their  own  kith  and  kin  :  could 
they  be  made  acquainted  with  the  deeds  of  those  twenty 
thousand  Hessians,  sent  hither  by  King  George,  and  who 
have  left  their  name  in  our  language  as  a  word  signify 
ing  brigands,  who  sell  their  blood  and  commit  murder 
for  hire  :  could  they  thus  read  the  history  of  minds  and 
hearts,  influenced  at  the  fountains  of  life  for  several 
generations,  they  would  perhaps  comprehend,  if  they 
could  not  approve,  the  habitual  distrust  of  British  influ 
ence,  which  lingers  among  our  people. 

About  three-fourths  of  a  mile  from  my  father's  house, 
on  the  winding  road  to  Lower  Salem,  which  I  have 
already  mentioned,  and  which  bore  the  name  of  West 
Lane,  was  the  school-house  where  I  took  my  first  lessons, 
and  received  the  foundations  of  my  very  slender  educa 
tion.  I  have  since  been  sometimes  asked  where  I 
graduated :  my  reply  has  always  been,  "  At  West  Lane." 
Generally  speaking,  this  has  ended  the. inquiry  ;  whether, 
because  my  questioners  have  confounded  this  venerable 
institution  with  "  Lane  Seminary,"  or  have  not  thought 
it  worth  while  to  risk  an  exposure  of  their  ignorance  as 
to  the  college  in  which  I  was  educated,  I  am  unable  to 
say. 

The  site  of  the  school-house  was  a  triangular  piece  of 
land,  measuring  perhaps  a  rood  in  extent,  and  lying,  ac 
cording  to  the  custom  of  those  days,  at  the  meeting  of 
four  roads.  The  ground  hereabouts — as  every  where  else 
in  Ridgefield — was  exceedingly  stony ;  and,  in  making 
the  pathway,  the  stones  had  been  thrown  out  right  and 
left,  and  there  remained  in  heaps  on  either  side,  from 


OW  K     ST  O  KT  .  21 

generation  to  generation.  All  around  was  bleak  and 
desolate.  Loose,  squat  stone  walls,  with  innumerable 
breaches,  inclosed  the  adjacent  fields.  A  few  tufts  of 
elder,  with  here  and  there  a  patch  of  briers  and  poke- 
weed,  flourished  in  the  gravelly  soil.  Not  a  tree,  how 
ever,  remained;  save  an  aged  chestnut,  at  the  western 
angel  of  the  space.  This,  certainly,  had  not  been  spared 
for  shade  or  ornament,  but  probably  because  it  would 
have  cost  too  much  labor  to  cut  it  down  ;  for  it  was  of 
ample  girth.  At  all  events,  it  was  the  oasis  in  our  desert 
during  summer ;  and  in  autumn,  as  the  burrs  disclosed 
its  fruit,  it  resembled  a  besieged  city  ;  the  boys,  like  so 
many  catapults,  hurled  at  it  stones  and  sticks,  until  every 
nut  had  capitulated. 

•  Two  houses  only  were  at  hand :  one,  surrounded  by 
an  ample  barn,  a  teeming  orchard,  and  an  enormous 
wood -pile,  belonging  to  Granther  Baldwin ;  the  other 
was  the  property  of  "Old  Chich-es-ter ;"  an  uncouth, 
unsocial  being,  whom  everybody,  for  some  reason  or 
other,  seemed  to  despise  and  shun.  His  house  was  of 
stone,  and  of  one  story.  He  had  a  cow,  which  every 
year  had  a  calf.  He  had  a  wife — dirty  and  uncombed, 
and  vaguely  reported  to  have  been  brought  from  the  old 
country.  This  is  about  the  whole  history  of  the  man,  so 
far  as  it  is  written  in  the  authentic  traditions  of  the 
parish.  His  premises,  an  acre  in  extent,  consisted  of  a 
tongue  of  land  between  two  of  the  converging  roads. 
No  boy,  that  I  ever  heard  of,  ventured  to  cast  a  stone,  or 
to  make  an  incursion  into  this  territory,  though  it  lay 
close  to  the  school-house.  I  have  often,  in  passing, 
peeped  timidly  over  the  walls,  and  caught  glimpses  of  a 
stout  man  with  a  drab  coat,  drab  breeches,  and  drab  gai 
ters,  prowling  about  the  house ;  but  never  did  I  discover 


22  PETER     PARLEY'S 

him  outside  of  his  own  dominion.  I  know  it  was  darkly 
intimated  he  had  been  tarred  and  feathered  in  the  revo 
lutionary  war  ;  but  as  to  the  rest,  he  was  a  perfect  myth. 

The  school-house  itself  consisted  of  rough,  unpainted 
clap-boards,  upon  a  wooden  frame.  It  was  plastered 
within,  and  contained  two  apartments,  a  little  entry, 
taken  out  of  a  corner  for  a  wardrobe,  and  the  school 
room  proper.  The  chimney  was  of  stone,  and  pointed 
with  mortar,  which,  by  the  way,  had  been  dug  into  a 
honeycomb  by  -uneasy  and  enterprising  penknives.  The 
fireplace  was  six  feet  wide  and  four  feet  deep.  The  flue 
was  so  ample  and  so  perpendicular,  that  the  rain,  sleet, 
and  snow  fell  directly  to  the  hearth.  In  winter,  the 
battle  for  life  with  green  fizzling  fuel,  which  was  brought 
in  lengths  and  cut  up  by  the  scholars,  was  a  stern  one. 
Not  unfrequently  the  wood,  gushing  with  sap  as  it  was, 
chanced  to  go  out,  and  as  there  was  no  living  without 
fire,  the  thermometer  being  ten  or  twenty  degrees  below 
zero,  the  school  was  dismissed,  whereat  all  the  scholars 
rejoiced  aloud,  not  having  the  fear  of  the  schoolmaster 
before  their  eyes. 

It  was  the  custom  at  this  place  to  have  a  woman's 
school  in  the  summer  months,  and  this  was  attended 
only  by  young  children.  It  was,  in  fact,  what  we  now 
call  a  primary  or  infant  school.  In  winter,  a  man  was 
employed  as  teacher,  and  then  the  girls  and  boys  of  the 
neighborhood,  up  to  the  age  of  eighteen,  or  even  twenty, 
were  among  the  pupils.  It  was  not  uncommon,  at  this 
season,  to  have  forty  scholars  crowded  into  this  little 
building. 

I  was  about  six  years  old  when  I  first  went  to  school. 
My  teacher  was  Aunt  Delight,  that  is  Delight  Benedict, 
a  maiden  lady  of  fifty,  short  and  bent,  of  sallow  com- 


OWNSTORT.  23 

plexion  and  solemn  aspect.  I  remember  the  first  day 
•with  perfect  distinctness.  I  went  alone — for  I  was 
familiar  with  the  road,  it  being  that  which  passed  by  our 
old  house.  I  carried  a  little  basket,  with  bread  and  but 
ter  within,  for  my  dinner,  and  this  was  covered  over  with 
a  white  cloth.  When  I  had  proceeded  about  half  way, 
I  lifted  the  cover,  and  debated  whether  I  would  not  eat 
my  dinner  then.  I  believe  it  was  a  sense  of  duty  only 
that  prevented  my  doing  so,  for  in  those  happy  days  I 
always  had  a  keen  appetite.  Bread  and  butter  were 
then  infinitely  superior  to  pate  de  foie  gras  now  ;  but 
still,  thanks  to  my  training,  I  had  also  a  conscience.  As 
my  mother  had  given  me  the  food  for  dinner,  I  did  not 
think  it  right  to  convert  it  into  lunch,  even  though  I 
was  strongly  tempted. 

I  think  we  had  seventeen  scholars — boys  and  girls — 
mostly  of  my  own  age.  Among  them  were  some  of  my 
after-companions.  I  have  since  met  several  of  them — 
one  at  Savannah  and  two  at  Mobile — respectably  estab 
lished,  and  with  families  around  them.  Some  remain, 
and  are  now  among  the  grey  old  men  of  the  town  :  the 
names  of  others  I  have  seen  inscribed  on  the  tomb 
stones  of  their  native  village.  And  the  rest — where  are 
they? 

The  school  being  assembled,  we  were  all  seated  upon 
benches,  made  of  what  were  called  slabs — that  is,  boards 
having  the  exterior  or  rounded  part  of  the  log  on  one 
side :  as  they  were  useless  for  other  purposes,  these  were 
converted  into  school-benches,  the  rounded  part  down. 
They  had  each  four  supports,  consisting  of  straddling 
wooden  legs  set  into  augur-holes.  Our  own  legs  swayed 
in  the  air,  for  they  were  too  short  to  touch  the  floor. 


24  PETER     PARLEY'S 

Oh,  what  an  awe  fell  over  me,  when  we  were  all  seated 
and  silence  reigned  around  ! 

The  children  were  called  up  one  by  one  to  Aunt  De 
light,  who  sat  on  a  low  chair,  and  required  each,  as  a 
preliminary,  "to  make  his  manners,"  which  consisted  of 
a  small,  sudden  nod.  She  then  placed  the  spelling-book 
— which  was  Dilworth's — before  the  pupil,  and  with  a 
buck-handled  penknife  pointed,  one  by  one,  to  the  letters 
of  the  alphabet,  saying,  « What's  that  ?"  If  the  child 
knew  his  letters,  the  "  what's  that  ?"  very  soon  raH  on 
thus : — 

"What's  that?" 

"A." 

"  'Stha-a-t  2" 

"  B." 

"Sna-a-a-tP 

"C." 

"  Sna-a-a-t  ?" 

«D."&c. 

I  looked  upon  these  operations  with  intense  curiosity 
and  no  small  respect,  until  my  own  turn  came.  I  went 
up  to  the  schoolmistress  with  some  emotion,  and  when 
she  said,  rather  spitefully,  as  I  thought,  "Make  your 
obeisance  !"  my  little  intellects  all  fled  away,  and  I  did 
nothing.  Having  waited  a  second,  gazing  at  me  with 
indignation,  she  laid  her  hand  on  the  top  of  my  head, 
and  gave  it  a  jerk  which  made  my  teeth  clash.  I  believe 
I  bit  my  tongue  a  little  ;  at  all  events,  my  sense  of  dig 
nity  was  offended,  and  when  she  pointed  to  A,  and  asked 
what  it  was,  it  swam  before  me  dim  and  hazy,  and  as  big 
as  a  full  moon.  She  repeated  the  question,  but  I  was 
doggedly  silent.  Again,  a  third  time,  she  said,  "  What's 
that  ?"  I  replied  :  "  Why  don't  you  tell  me  what  it  is  ? 


OWN      STORY.  26 

I  didn't  come  here  to  learn  you  your  letters."  I  have 
not  the  slightest  remembrance  of  this,  for  my  brains  were 
all  a  wool-gathering ;  but  as  Aunt  Delight  affirmed  it  to 
be  a  fact,  and  it  passed  into  a  tradition  in  my  family,  I 
put  it  in. 

What  immediately  followed  I  do  not  clearly  remem 
ber,  but  one  result  is  distinctly  traced  in  my  memory. 
In  the  evening  of  this  eventful  day  the  schoolmistress 
paid  my  parents  a  visit,  and  recounted  to  their  astonished 
ears  this  my  awful  contempt  of  authority.  My  father, 
after  hearing  the  story,  got  up  and  went  away  ;  but 
my  mother,  who  was  a  careful  disciplinarian,  told  me 
not  to  do  so  again  !  I  always  had  a  suspicion  that 
both  of  them  smiled  on  one  side  of  their  faces,  even 
while  they  seemed  to  sympathize  with  the  old  lady 
on  the  other ;  still,  I  do  not  affirm  it,  for  I  am 
bound  to  say  of  both  my  parents,  that  I  never  knew 
them,  even  in  trifles,  say  one  thing  while  they  meant 
another. 

I  believe  I  achieved  the  alphabet  that  summer,  but  my 
after  progress,  for  a  long  time,  I  do  not  remember.  Two 
years  later  I  went  to  the  winter  school  at  the  same  place, 
kept  by  Lewis  Olmstead — a  man  who  made  a  business 
of  ploughing,  mowing,  carting  manure,  &c.,  in  the  sum 
mer,  and  of  teaching  school  in  the  winter ;  with  a  talent 
for  music  at  all  seasons,  wherefore  he  became  chorister 
upon  occasion,  when,  peradventure,  Deacon  Hawley 
could  not  officiate.  He  was  a  celebrity  in  ciphering,  and 
Squire  Seymour  declared  that  he  was  the  greatest  "arith- 
meticker"  in  Fairfield  county.  All  I  remember  of  his 
person  is  his  hand,  which  seemed  to  me  as  big  as  Goli 
ath's,  judging  by  the  claps  of  thunder  it  made  in  my  ears 
on  one  or  two  occasions. 

3 


26  PETER    PARLEY'S 

The  next  step  of  my  progress  which  is  marked  in  my 
memory,  is  the  spelling  of  words  of  two  syllables.  I  did 
not  go  very  regularly  to  school,  but  by  the  time  I  was 
ten  years  old  I  had  learned  to  write,  and  had  made  a 
little  progress  in  arithmetic.  There  was  not  a  grammar, 
a  geography,  or  a  history  of  any  kind  in  the  school. 
Reading,  writing,  and  arithmetic  were  the  only  things 
taught,  and  these  very  indifferently — not  wholly  from 
the  stupidity  of  the  teacher,  but  because  he  had  forty 
scholars,  and  the  custom  of  the  age  required  no  more 
than  he  performed.  I  did  as  well  as  the  other  scholars, 
certainly  no  better.  I  had  excellent  health  and  joyous 
spirits ;  in  leaping,  running,  and  wrestling  I  had  but  one 
superior  .of  my  age,  and  that  was  Stephen  Olmstead,  a 
snug-built  fellow,  smaller  than  myself,  and  who,  despite 
our  rivalry,  was  my  chosen  friend  and  companion.  I 
seemed  to  live  for  play :  alas !  how  the  world  has 
changed  since  then ! 

After  I  had  left  my  native  town  for  some  twenty  years, 
I  returned  and  paid  it  a  visit.  Among  the  monuments 
that  stood  high  in  my  memory  was  the  West  Lane 
school-house.  Unconsciously  carrying  with  me  the 
measures  of  childhood,  I  had  supposed  it  to  be  thirty  feet 
square  ;  how  had  it  dwindled  when  I  came  to  estimate  it 
by  the  new  standards  I  had  formed  !  It  was  in  all  things 
the  same,  yet  wholly  changed  to  me.  What  I  had 
deemed  a  respectable  edifice,  as  it  now  stood  before  me 
was  only  a  weather-beaten  little  shed,  which,  upon  being 
measured,  I  found  to  be  less  than  twenty  feet  square.  It 
happened  to  be  a  warm  summer  day,  and  I  ventured  to 
enter  the  place.  I  found  a  girl,  some  eighteen  years  old, 
keeping  a  ma'am  school  for  about  twenty  scholars,  some 
of  whom  were  studying  Parley's  Geography.  The  mis- 


OWN      STORY.  27 

tress  was  the  daughter  of  one  of  my  schoolmates,  and 
some  of  the  boys  and  girls  were  grandchildren  of  the 
little  brood  which  gathered  under  the  wing  of  Aunt  De 
light,  when  I  was  an  abecedarian.  None  of  them,  not 
even  the  schoolmistress,  had  ever  heard  of  me.  The 
name  of  my  father,  as  having  ministered  to  the  people 
of  Ridgefield  in  some  bygone  age,  was  faintly  traced  in 
their  recollection.  As  to  Peter  Parley,  whose  geography 
they  were  learning,  they  supposed  him  to  be  a  decrepit 
old  gentleman  hobbling  about  on  a  crutch,  a  long  way 
off,  for  whom,  nevertheless,  they  had  a  certain  affection, 
inasmuch  as  he  had  made  geography  into  a  story-book. 
The  frontispiece  picture  of  the  old  fellow,  with  his  gouty 
foot  in  a  chair,  threatening  the  boys  that  if  they  touched 
his  tender  toe  he  would  tell  them  no  more  stories, 
secured  their  respect,  and  placed  him  among  the 
saints  in  the  calendar  of  their  young  hearts.  "  Well," 
thought  I,  "  if  this  goes  on,  I  may  yet  rival  Mother 
Goose !" 

I  hope  the  reader  will  not  imagine  that  I  am  thinking 
too  little  of  his  amusement  and  too  much  of  my  own,  if 
I  stop  a  few  moments  to  note  the  lively  recollections  I 
entertain  of  the  joyousness  of  my  early  life,  and  not  of 
mine  only,  but  that  of  my  playmates  and  companions. 
In  looking  back  to  those  early  days,  the  whole  circle  of 
the  seasons  seems  to  me  almost  like  one  unbroken  morn 
ing  of  pleasure. 

I  was  of  course  subjected  to  the  usual  crosses  incident 
to  my  age,  those  painful  and  mysterious  visitations  sent 
upon  children — the  measles,  mumps,  whooping-cough, 
and  the  like ;  usually  regarded  as  retributions  for  the 
false  step  of  our  mother  Eve  in  the  Garden ;  but  they 
have  almost  passed  from  my  memory,  as  if  overflowed 


28  PETER     PARLEY'S 

and  borne  away  by  the  general  drift  of  happiness  which 
filled  my  bosom.  Among  these  calamities,  one  monu 
ment  alone  remains — the  small-pox.  It  was  in  the  year 
1798,  as  I  well  remember,  that  my  father's  house  was 
converted  into  a  hospital,  or,  as  it  was  then  called,  a 
"  pest-house,"  where,  with  some  dozen  other  children,  I 
was  inoculated  for  this  disease,  then  the  scourge  and 
terror  of  the  world. 

The  lane  in  which  our  house  was  situated  was  fenced 
up,  north  and  south,  so  as  to  cut  off  all  intercourse  with 
the  world  around.  A  flag  was  raised,  and  upon  it  were 
inscribed  the  ominous  words,  "  Strir3  SMALL-POX."  My 
uncle  and  aunt,  from  New  Haven,  arrived  with  their 
three  children.  Half-a-dozen  others  of  the  neighbor 
hood  were  gathered  together,  making,  with  our  own 
children,  somewhat  over  a  dozen  subjects  for  the  experi 
ment.  When  all  was  ready,  like  Noah  and  his  family, 
we  were  shut  in.  Provisions  were  deposited  in  a  basket 
at  a  point  agreed  upon,  down  the  lane.  Thus  we  were 
cut  off  from  the  world,  excepting  only  that  Dr.  Perry, 
the  physician,  ventured  to  visit  us. 

As  to  myself,  the  disease  passed  lightly  over,  leaving, 
however,  its  indisputable  autographs  on  various  parts  of 
my  body.  Were  it  not  for  these  testimonials,  I  should 
almost  suspect  that  I  had  escaped  the  disease,  for  I  only 
remember,  among  my  symptoms  and  my  sufferings,  a 
little  headache,  and  the  privation  of  salt  and  butter 
upon  my  hasty-pudding.  My  restoration  to  these 
privileges  I  distinctly  recollect :  doubtless  these  gave 
me  more  pleasure  than  the  clean  bill  of  health 
which  they  implied.  Several  of  the  patients  suffered 
severely,  and  among  them  my  brother  and  one  of  my 
cousins. 


OWN     STORY.  29 

But  although  there  is  evidence  that  I  was  subject  to 
the  usual  drawbacks  upon  the  happiness  of  childhood, 
these  were  so  few  that  they  have  passed  from  my  mind ; 
and  those  early  years,  as  I  look  back  to  them,  seem  to 
have  flowed  on  in  one  bright  current  of  uninterrupted 
enjoyment. 

i* 


CHAPTEE   III. 

BTOOBITELD  SOCIETY — TRADES  AND  PROFESSIONS— CHIMNEY-CORNER  COURT 
SHIPS — DOMESTIC  ECONOMY — DRAM-DRINKING — FAMILY  PBODUCT8 — MOL 
LY  GREGORY  AND  CHURCH  MUSIC — TRAVELLING  ARTISANS FESTIVAL  OF 

THE    QUILTS — CLERICAL    PATRONAGE — RAISING   A  CHURCH — THE  RETIRED 
TAILOR  AND   HIS  FARM. 

LET  me  now  give  you  a  sketch  of  Ridgefield  and  of 
the  people,  how  they  lived,  thought,  and  felt,  at  the  be 
ginning  of  the  present  century.  It  will  give  you  a  good 
idea  of  the  rustic  life  of  New  England  fifty  years  ago. 

From  what  I  have  already  said,  you  will  easily  imagine 
the  prominent  physical  characteristics  and  aspect  of  my 
native  town:  a  general  mass  of  hills,  rising  up  in  a 
crescent  of  low  mountains,  and  commanding  a  wide  view 
on  every  side.  The  soil  was  naturally  hard,  and  thickly 
sown  with  stones  of  every  size.  The  fields  were  divided 
by  rude  stone  walls,  and  the  surface  of  most  of  them  was 
dotted  with  gathered  heaps  of  stones  and  rocks,  thus 
clearing  spaces  for  cultivation,  yet  leaving  a  large  portion 
of  the  land  still  encumbered.  The  climate  was  severe, 
on  account  of  the  elevation  of  the  site,  yet  this  was  per 
haps  fully  compensated  by  its  salubrity. 

Yet,  despite  the  somewhat  forbidding  nature  of  the 
soil  and  climate  of  Ridgefield,  it  may  be  regarded  as 
presenting  a  favorable  example  of  New  England  country 
life  and  society  at  the  time  I  speak  of.  The  town  was 
originally  settled  by  a  sturdy  race  of  men,  mostly  the 


PETER  PARLEY'S  OWN  STORY.    31 

immediate  descendants  of  English  emigrants,  some  from 
Milford.  Their  migration  over  an  intervening  space  of 
savage  hills,  rocks  and  ravines,  into  a  territory  so  uninvit 
ing,  and  their  speedy  conversion  of  this  into  a  thriving  and 
smiling  village,  bear  witness  to  their  courage  and  energy. 

At  the  time  referred  to,  the  date  of  my  earliest  recol 
lection,  the  society  of  Ridgefield  was  exclusively  English. 
I  remember  but  one  Irishman,  one  negro,  and  one  Indian  in 
the  town.  The  first  had  begged  and  blarneyed  his  way 
from  Long  Island,  where  he  had  been  wrecked ;  the  sec 
ond  was  a  liberated  slave ;  and  the  last  was  the  vestige  of 
a  tribe  which  dwelt  of  yore  in  a  swampy  tract,  the  name 
of  which  I  have  forgotten.  We  had  a  professional  beg 
gar,  called  Jagger,  who  had  served  in  the  armies  of  more 
than  one  of  the  Georges,  and  insisted  upon  crying,  "  God 
save  the  king !"  even  on  the  4th  of  July,  and  when 
openly  threatened  by  the  boys  with  a  gratuitous  ride  on 
a  rail.  We  had  one  settled  pauper,  Mrs  Yabacomb, 
who,  for  the  first  dozen  years  of  my  life,  was  my  standard 
type  for  the  witch  of  Endor. 

Nearly  all  the  inhabitants  of  Eidgefield  were  farmers, 
with  the  few  mechanics  that  were  necessary  to  carry  on 
society  in  a  somewhat  primeval  state.  Even  the  persons 
not  professionally  devoted  to  agriculture  had  each  his 
farm,  or  at  least  his  garden  and  home  lot,  with  his  pigs, 
poultry,  and  cattle.  The  population  might  have  been 
1200,  comprising  two  hundred  families.  All  could  read 
and  write,  but  in  point  of  fact,  beyond  the  Almanac  and 
Watts'  Psalms  and  Hymns,  their  literary  acquirements 
had  little  scope.  There  were,  I  think,  four  newspapers, 
all  weekly,  published  in  the  State :  one  at  Hartford,  one 
at  New  London,  one  at  New  Haven,  and  one  at  Litch- 
field.  There  were,  however,  not  more  than  three  sub- 


32  PETER     PARLEY'S 

scribers  to  all  these  in  our  village.  "We  had,  however, 
a  public  library  of  some  twfo  hundred  volumes,  and, 
what  was  of  equal  consequence,  the  town  was  on  the 
road  which  was  then  the  great  thoroughfare,  connecting 
Boston  with  New  York ;  and  hence  we  had  means  of 
intelligence  from  travellers  constantly  passing  through 
the  place,  which  kept  us  acquainted  with  the  march  of 
events. 

If  Ridgefield  was  thus  rather  above  the  average  of 
Connecticut  villages  in  civilization,  I  suppose  the  circum 
stances  and  modes  of  life  in  my  father's  family  were 
somewhat  above  those  of  most  people  around  us.  We 
had  a  farm  of  forty  acres,  with  four  cows,  two  horses, 
and  some  dozen  sheep,  to  which  may  be  added  a  stock 
of  poultry,  including  a  flock  of  geese.  My  father  carried 
on  the  farm,  besides  preaching  two  sermons  a-week,  and 
visiting  the  sick,  attending  funerals,  solemnizing  mar 
riages,  &c.  He  laid  out  the  beds  and  planted  the 
garden ;  pruned  the  fruit-trees,  and  worked  with  the 
men  in  the  meadow  in  hay-time.  He  generally  cut  the 
corn-stalks  himself,  and  always  shelled  the  ears  ;  the  lat 
ter  being  done  by  drawing  them  across  the  handle  of  the 
frying-pan,  fastened  over  a  wash-tub.  I  was  sometimes 
permitted,  as  an  indulgence,  to  share  this  favorite  em 
ployment  with  my  father.  With  these  and  a  few  other 
exceptions,  our  agricultural  operations  were  carried  on 
by  hired  help. 

It  was  the  custom  in  New  England,  at  the  time  I 
speak  of,  for  country  lawyers,  physicians,  clergymen, 
even  doctors  of  divinity,  to  partake  of  these  homespun 
labors.  In  the  library  of  the  Athenaeum,  at  Hartford,  is 
a  collection  of  almanacs,  formerly  belonging  to  John 
Cotton  Smith — one  of  the  most  elegant  and  accomplished 


OWNSTORY.  33 

men  of  his  time — a  distinguished  Member  of  Congress, 
Judge  of  the  Superior  Court,  and  several  years  Governor 
of  the  State;  in  looking  it  over,  I  observed  such  notes 
as  the  following,  made  with  his  own  hand  :  "  Cut  my 
barley,"  "  began  rye  harvest,"  "  planted  field  of  potatoes," 
&c. :  thus  showing  his  personal  attention  to,  if  not  his 
participation  in,  the  affairs  of  the  farm.  Nearly  all  the 
judges  of  the  Superior  Court  occasionally  worked  in  the 
field,  in  these  hearty  old  federal  times. 

But  I  returned  to  Ridgefield.  The  household,  as  well 
as  political,  economy  of  those  days  lay  in  this, — that 
every  family  lived  as  much  as  possible  within  itself. 
Money  was  scarce,  wages  being  about  fifty  cents  a-day, 
though  these  were  generally  paid  in  meat,  vegetables, 
and  other  articles  of  use — seldom  in  money.  There  was 
not  a  factory  of  any  kind  in  the  place.*  There  was  a 
butcher,  but  he  only  went  from  house  to  house  to 
slaughter  the  cattle  and  swine  of  his  neighbors.  There 
was  a  tanner,  but  he  only  dressed  other  people's  skins. 
There  was  a  clothier,  but  he  generally  fulled  and  dressed 
other  people's  cloth.  All  this  is  typical  of  the  mechani 
cal  operations  of  the  place.  Even  dyeing  blue  a  portion 
of  the  wool,  so  as  to  make  linsey-woolsey  for  short 
gowns,  aprons,  and  blue-mixed  stockings — vital  necessi 
ties  in  those  days — was  a  domestic  operation.  During 
the  autumn,  a  dye-tub  in  the  chimney  corner — thus 
placed  so  as  to  be  cherished  by  the  genial  heat — was  as 
familiar  in  all  thrifty  houses  as  the  Bible  or  the  back-log. 

*  I  recollect,  as  an  after-thought,  one  exception.  There  was  a 
hatter  who  supplied  the  town ;  but  he  generally  made  hats  to 
order,  and  usually  in  exchange  for  the  skins  of  foxes,  rabbits, 
muskrats,  and  other  chance  peltry.  I  frequently  purchased  my 
powder  and  shot  from  the  proceeds  of  skins  which  I  sold  him. 


34  PETER     PARLEY'S 

It  was  covered  with  a  board,  and  formed  a  cosy  seat  in 
the  wide-mouthed  fireplace,  especially  of  a  chill  evening. 
When  the  night  had  waned,  and  the  family  had  retired, 
it  frequently  became  the  anxious  seat  of  the  lover,  who 
was  permitted  to  carry  on  his  courtship,  the  object  of  his 
addresses  sitting  demurely  in  the  opposite  corner.  Some 
of  the  first  families  in  Connecticut,  I  suspect,  could  their 
full  annals  be  written,  would  find  their  foundations  to 
have  been  laid  in  these  chimney-corner  courtships. 

Being  thus  exposed,  the  dye-tub  was  the  frequent  sub 
ject  of  distressing  and  exciting  accidents.  Among  the 
early,  indelible  incidents  in  my  memory,  one  of  the  most 
prominent  is  turning  this  over.  Nothing  so  roused  the 
indignation  of  thrifty  housewives,  for,  besides  the  stain 
left  upon  the  floor  by  the  blue,  a  most  disagreeable  odor 
was  diffused  by  it. 

To  this  general  system  of  domestic  economy  our  family 
was  not  an  exception.  Every  autumn,  it  was  a  matter  ot 
course  that  we  had  a  fat  ox  or  a  fat  cow  ready  for 
slaughter.  One  full  barrel  was  salted  down ;  the  hams 
were  cut  out,  slightly  salted,  and  hung  up  in  the  chimney 
for  a  few  days,  and  thus  became  "  dried  "  or  hung  beef," 
then  as  essential  as  bread.  Pork  was  managed  in  a 
similar  way,  though  even  on  a  larger  scale,  for  two  bar 
rels  were  indispensable.  A  few  pieces,  as  the  spare-ribs, 
&c.,  were  distributed  to  the  neighbors,  who  paid  in  kind 
when  they  killed  their  swine. 

Mutton  and  poultry  came  in  their  turn,  all  from  our. 
own  stock,  except  when  on  Thanksgiving-day  some  of 
the  magnates  gave  the  parson  a  turkey.  This,  let  me 
observe,  in  those  good  old  times,  was  a  bird  of  mark ;  no 
timid,  crouching  biped,  with  downcast  head  and  pallid 
countenace,  but  stalking  like  a  lord,  and  having  wattles 


OWN8TORY.  35 

red  as  a  "  banner  bathed  in  slaughter."  His  beard  was 
long,  shining,  and  wiry.  There  was,  in  fact,  something 
of  the  native  bird  still  in  him,  for  though  the  race  was 
nearly  extinct,  a  few  wild  flocks  lingered  in  the  remote 
woods.  Occasionally,  in  the  depth  of  winter,  and 
towards  the  early  spring,  these  stole  to  the  barnyard,  and 
held  communion  with  their  civilized  cousins.  Severe 
battles  ensued  among  the  leaders  for  the  favors  of  the 
fair,  and  as  the  wild  cocks  always  conquered,  the  vigor 
of  the  race  was  kept  up. 

Our  bread  was  made  of  rye,  mixed  with  Indian  meal. 
Wheat  bread  was  reserved  for  the  sacrament  and  com 
pany  ;  a  proof  not  of  its  superiority,  but  of  its  scarcity 
and  consequent  estimation.  All  the  vegetables  came 
from  our  garden  and  farm.  The  fuel  was  supplied  by  our  . 
own  woods — sweet-scented  hickory,  snapping  chestnut, 
odoriferous  oak,  and  reeking,  fizzling  ash — the  hot  juice 
of  the  latter,  by  the  way,  being  a  sovereign  antidote  for 
the  earache.  These  were  laid  in  huge  piles,  all  alive  with 
sap,  on  the  tall,  gaunt  andirons.  The  building  of  a  fire, 
a  real  architectural  achievement,  was  always  begun  by 
daybreak.  There  -was  first  a  back-log,  from  fifteen  to 
to  four-and-twenty  inches  in  diameter,  and  five  feet  long, 
imbedded  in  the  ashes ;  then  came  a  top  log,  then  a  fore 
stick,  then  a  middle  stick,  and  then  a  heap  of  kindlings, 
reaching  from  the  bowels  down  to  the  bottom.  Above 
all  was  a  pyramid  of  smaller  fragments,  artfully  adjusted, 
with  spaces  for  the  blaze.  Friction  matches  had  not  then 
been  invented.  So,  if  there  were  no  coals  left  from  the 
last  night's  fire,  and  none  to  be  borrowed  from  the  neigh 
bors,  resort  was  had  to  flint,  steel,  and  tinder-box.  Often, 
when  the  flint  was  dull,  and  the  steel  soft,  and  the  tinder 
damp,  the  striking  of  fire  was  a  task  requiring  both 


36  PETER     PARLEY'S 

energy  and  patience.  If  the  pile  on  the  andirons  waj 
skilfully  constructed,  the  spark  being  applied,  there  was 
soon  a  furious  stinging  smoke  ;  but  the  forked  flame  soon 
began  to  lick  the  sweating  sticks  above,  and  by  the  time 
the  family  had  arisen,  and  assembled  in  the  "  keeping- 
room,"  there  was  a  roaring  blaze,  defying  the  bitter  blasts 
of  winter,  which  found  abundant  admittance  through  the 
crannies  of  the  doors  and  windows.-  To  feed  the  family 
fire  in  those  days,  during,  the  severe  season,  was  fully  one 
man's  work. 

But  to  go  on  with  our  household  history.  Sugar  was 
partially  supplied  by  our  maple-trees.  These  were  tapped 
in  March,  the  sap  being  collected,  and  boiled  down 
in  the  woods.  This  was  wholly  a  domestic  operation, 
and  one  in  which  all  the  children  rejoiced,  each  taking 
his  privilege  of  tasting,  at  every  stage  of  the  manufacture. 
The  chief  supply  of  sugar,  however,  was  from  the  West 
Indies. 

Rum  was  largely  consumed,  but  our  distilleries  had 
scarcely  begun.  A  half-pint  of  it  was  given  as  a  matter 
of  course  to  every  day  laborer,  more  particularly  in  the 
summer  season.  In  all  families,  rich  or  poor,  it  was 
offered  to  male  visitors  as  an  essential  point  of  hospitality, 
or  even  good  manners.  Women — I  beg  pardon — ladies, 
took  their  schnapps,  then  named  "Hopkins'  Elixir," 
which  was  the  most  delicious  and  seductive  means  of  get 
ting  tipsy  that  has  been  invented.  Crying  babies  were 
silenced  with  hot  toddy.  Every  man  imbibed  his  morn 
ing  dram,  and  this  was  esteemed  temperance.  There  is 
a  story  of  a  preacher,  about  those  days,  who  thus  lectured 
his  parish  :  "  I  say  nothing,  my  beloved  brethren,  against 
taking  a  little  bitters  before  breakfast,  and  after  break 
fast  ;  especially  if  you  are  used  to  it.  What  I  contend 


OWN     STORY.  37 

against  is,  this  dramming,  dramming,  dramming,  at  all 
hours  of  the  day.  There  are  some  men  who  take  a  glass 
at  eleven  o'clock  in  the  forenoon,  and  at  four  in  the  after 
noon.  I  do  not  purpose  to  contend  against  old-establish 
ed  customs,  my  brethren,  rendered  respectable  by  tune 
and  authority ;  but  this  dramming,  dramming,  is  a  crying 
sin  in  the  laud." 

As  to  brandy,  I  scarcely  heard  of  it,  so  far  as  I  can 
recollect,  till  I  was  sixteen  years  old,  and,  as  an  appren 
tice  in  a  country  store,  was  called  upon  to  sell  it.  Cider 
was  the  universal  table  beverage.  Brandy  and  whisky 
soon  after  came  into  use.  I  remember,  in  my  boyhood, 
to  have  seen  a  strange  zigzag  tin  tube,  denominated  a 
"  still,"  belonging  to  one  of  our  neighbors,  converting, 
drop  by  drop,  certain  innocent  liquids  into  "  fire-water." 
But,  in  the  days  I  speak  of,  French  brandy  was  confined 
to  the  houses  of  the  rich,  and  to  the  drug-shop. 

Wine,  in  our  country  towns,  was  then  almost  exclu 
sively  used  for  the  sacrament. 

There  was,  of  course,  no  baker  in  Ridgefield ;  each 
family  not  only  made  its  own  bread,  cakes,  and  pies,  but 
its  own  soap,  candles,  butter,  cheese,  and  the  like.  The 
manufacture  of  linen  and  woollen  cloth  was  no  less  a 
domestic  operation.  Cotton — that  h,  raw  cotton — was 
then  wholly  unknown  among  us  at  the  North,  except  as 
a  mere  curiosity,  produced  somewheix  in  the  tropics ;  but 
whether  it  grew  on  a  plant,  or  an  animal,  was  not  clearly 
settled  in  the  public  mind. 

We  raised  our  own  flax,  rotted  it,  hackled  it,  dressed 
it,  and  spun  it.  The  little  wheel,  turned  by  the  foot,  had 
its  place,  and  was  as  familiar  as  if  it  had  been  a  member 
of  the  family.  How  often  have  I  seen  my  mother,  and 
my  grandmother,  too,  sit  down  to  it — though  this,  as  I 


38  PETER     PARLEY'S 

remember,  was  for  the  purpose  of  spinning  some  finer 
kind  of  thread — the  burden  of  the  spinning  being  done 
by  a  neighbor  of  ours,  Sally  St.  John.  By  the  way,  she 
was  a  good-hearted,  cheerful  old  maid,  who  petted  me 
beyond  my  deserts.  I  grieve  to  say,  that  I  repaid  her 
partiality  by  many  mischievous  pranks;  for  which  I 
should  have  been  roundly  punished,  had  not  the  good 
creature  forgiven  and  concealed  my  offences.  I  did, 
indeed,  get  fillipped  for  catching  her  foot  one  day  in  a 
steel-trap ;  but  I  declare  that  I  was  innocent  of  malice 
prepense,  inasmuch  as  I  had  set  the  trap  for  a  rat,  instead 
of  the  said  Sally.  Nevertheless,  the  verdict  was  against 
me ;  not  wholly  on  account  of  my  misdemeanor  in  this 
particular  instance,  but  because,  if  I  did  not  deserve 
punishment  for  that,  I  had  deserved  it,  and  should  deserve 
it  for  something  else  ;  and  so  it  was  safe  to  administer  it. 
The  wool  was  also  spun  in  the  family ;  partly  by  my 
sisters,  and  partly  by  Molly  Gregory,  daughter  of  our 
neighbor,  the  town  carpenter.  I  remember  her  well  as 
she  sang  and  spun  aloft  in  the  attic.  In  those  days, 
church-singing  was  the  only  one  of  the  fine  arts  which 
flourished  in  Ridgefield,  except  the  mnsic  of  the  drum  and 
fife.  The  choir  was  divided  into  four  parts,  ranged  on 
three  sides  of  the  meeting-house  gallery.  The  tenor,  led 
by  Deacon  Hawley,  was  in  front  of  the  pulpit,  the  bass 
to  the  left,  and  the  treble  and  counter  to  the  right ;  the 
whole  being  set  in  motion  by  a  pitch-pipe,  made  by  the 
deacon  himself,  who  was  a  cabinet-maker.  Molly  took 
upon  herself  the  entire  counter,  for  she  had  excellent 
lungs.  The  fuguing  tunes,  which  had  then  run  a  little 
mad,  were  her  delight.  In  her  solitary  operations  aloft 
I  have  often  hoard  her  send  forth,  from  the  attic  win 
dows,  the  droning  hum  of  her  wheel,  with  fitful  snatches 


OWN8TOKY.  39 

of  a  hymn,  in  which  the  bass  began,  the  tenor  followed, 
then  the  treble,  and,  finally,  the  counter — winding  np 
with  irresistible  pathos.  Molly  singing  to  herself,  and 
all  unconscious  of  eavesdroppers,  carried  on  all  the  parts 
thus: — 

Bass.       "  Long  for  a  cooling — 
Tenor.      "  Long  for  a  cooling — 
Trebk.     "  Long  for  a  cooling — 
Counter.  "  Long  for  a  cooling  stream  at  hand, 
And  they  must  drink  or  die  1" 

The  knitting  of  stockings  was  performed  by  the  women 
of  the  family  in  the  evening,  and  especially  at  tea-parties. 
This  was  considered  a  moral,  as  well  as  an  economical, 
employment ;  for  people  held,  with  Dr.  Watts,  that 

"  Satan  finds  some  mischief  still 
For  idle  hands  to  do." 

Satan,  however,  dodged  the  question!  for  if  the  hands 
were  occupied  the  tongue  was  loose ;  and  it  was  said 
that,  in  some  families,  he  kept  them  well  occupied  with 
idle  gossip.  At  all  events,  pianos,  chess-boards,  graces, 
battledoors  and  shuttlecocks,  with  other  safety-valves  of 
the  kind,  were  only  known  by  the  hearing  of  the  ear,  as 
belonging  to  some  such  Vanity  Fair  as  New  York  or 
Boston. 

The  weaving  of  cloth — linen  as  well  as  woollen — was 
performed  by  an  itinerant  workman,  who  came  to  the 
house,  put  up  his  loom,  and  threw  his  shuttle,  till  the 
season's  work  was  done.  The  linen  was  bleached  and 
made  up  by  the  family ;  the  woollen  cloth  was  sent  to 
the  fuller  to  be  dyed  and  dressed.  Twice  a-year,  that  is, 
in  the  spring  and  autumn,  the  tailor  came  to  the  house 


40  PETER     PARLEY'S 

and  made  a  stock  of  clothes  for  the  male  members ;  this 
was  called  "  whipping  the  cat." 

Mantuamakers  and  milliners  came,  in  their  turn,  to  fit 
out  the  female  members  of  the  family.  There  was  a 
similar  process  as  to  boots  and  shoes.  We  sent  the  hides 
of  the  cattle — cows  and  calves  we  had  killed — to  the 
tanner,  and  these  came  back  in  assorted  leather.  Occa 
sionally  a  little  morocco,  then  wholly  a  foreign  manufac 
ture,  was  bought  at  the  store,  and  made  up  for  the  ladies' 
best  shoes.  Amby  Benedict,  the  travelling  shoemaker, 
came  with  his  bench,  lapstone,  and  awls,  and  converted 
some  little  room  into  a  shop,  till  the  household  was  duly 
shod.  He  was  a  merry  fellow,  and  threw  in  lots  of  sing 
ing  gratis.  He  played  all  the  popular  airs  upon  his  lap- 
stone — as  hurdygurdies  and  hand-organs  do  now. 

Carpets  were  then  only  known  in  a  few  families,  and 
were  confined  to  the  keeping-room  and  parlor.  They 
were  all  home-made  :  the  warp  consisting  of  woollen 
yarn,  and  the  woof  of  lists  and  old  woollen  cloth,  cut 
into  strips,  and  sewed  together  at  the  ends.  Coverlids 
generally  consisted  of  quilts,  made  of  pieces  of  waste 
calico,  sewed  together  in  octagons,  and  quilted  in  rect 
angles,  giving  the  whole  a  gay  and  rich  appearance. 
This  process  of  quilting  generally  brought  together  the 
women  of  the  neighborhood,  married  and  single ;  and  a 
great  time  they  had  of  it,  what  with  tea,  talk,  and  stitch 
ing.  In  the  evening  the  men  were  admitted  ;  so  that  a 
quilting  was  a  real  festival,  not  unfrequently  leading  to 
love-making  and  marriage  among  the  young  people. 

This  reminds  me  of  a  sort  of  communism  or  socialism, 
which  prevailed  in  our  rural  districts  long  before  Owen 
or  Fourier  was  born.  At  Ridgefield  we  used  to  have 
"stone  bees,"  when  all  the  men  of  a  village  or  hamlet 


OWN     STORY.  41 

came  together  with  their  draught  cattle,  and  united  to 
clear  some  patch  of  earth  of  stones  and  rocks.  All  this 
labor  was  gratuitously  rendered,  save  only  that  the  pro 
prietor  of  the  land  furnished  the  grog.  Such  a  meeting 
was  always,  of  course,  a  very  social  and  sociable  affair. 

When  the  work  was  done,  gymnastic  exercises — such 
as  hopping,  wrestling,  and  foot-racing — took  place  among 
the  athletic  young  men.  My  father  generally  attended 
these  celebrations  as  a  looker-on.  It  was,  indeed,  the 
custom  for  the  clergy  of  the  olden  time  to  mingle  with 
the  people,  even  in  their  labors  and  their  pastimes.  For 
some  reason  or  other,  it  seemed  that  things  went  better 
when  the  parson  gave  them  his  countenance.  I  followed 
my  father's  example,  and  attended  these  cheerful  and 
beneficial  gatherings.  Most  of  the  boys  of  the  town  did 
the  same.  I  may  add  that,  if  I  may  trust  the  traditions 
of  Ridgefield,  the  cellar  of  our  new  house  was  dug  by  a 
u  bee"  in  a  single  day,  and  that  was  Christmas. 

House-raising  and  barn-raising,  the  framework  being 
always  of  wood,  were  done  in  the  same  way  by  a  neigh 
borly  gathering  of  the  people.  I  remember  an  anecdote 
of  a  church-raising,  which  I  may  as  well  relate  here.  In 
the  eastern  part  of  the  State,  I  think  at  Lyme,  or  Pauti- 
paug,  a  meeting-house  was  destroyed  by  lightning.  After 
a  year  or  two  the  society  mustered  its  energies,  and  raised 
the  frame  of  another  on  the  site'  of  the  old  one.  It 
stood  about  six  months,  and  was  then  blown  over.  In 
due  time  another  frame  was  prepared,  and  the  neighbor 
hood  gathered  together  to  raise  it.  It  was  now  proposed 
by  Deacon  Hart  that  they  should  commence  the  per 
formances  by  a  prayer  and  hymn,  it  having  been  sug 
gested  that  perhaps  the  want  of  these  pious  preliminaries 
on  former  occasions  had  something  to  do  with  the  calam- 


42  PETER     PARLEY'S 

itous  results  which  attended  them.  When  all  was 
ready,  therefore,  a  prayer  was  made,  and  the  chorister 
of  the  place  gave  out  two  lines  of  the  hymn,  thus  : — 

"  If  God  to  build  the  house  deny, 
The  builders  work  in  vain." 

This  being  sung,  the  chorister  completed  the  verse 
thus,  adapting  the  lines  to  the  occasion: — 

"  Unless  the  Lord  doth  shingle  it, 
It  will  blow  down  agin  1" 

I  must  not  fail  to  give  you  a  portrait  of  one  of  our 
village  homes,  of  the  middle  class,  at  this  era.  I  take  as 
an  example  that  of  our  neighbor,  J.  B.,  who  had  been 
a  tailor,  but  having  thriven  in  his  affairs,  and  being  now 
some  fifty  years  old,  had  become  a  farmer.  It  was 
situated  on  the  road  leading  to  Salem,  there  being  a  wide 
space  in  front  occupied  by  the  wood-pile,  which  in  these 
days  was  not  only  a  matter  of  great  importance,  but  of 
formidable  bulk.  The  size  of  the  wood-pile  was,  indeed, 
in  some  sort  an  index  to  the  rank  and  condition  of  the 
proprietor.  The  house  itself  was  a  low  edifice,  forty  feet 
long,  and  of  two  stories  in  front ;  the  rear  being  what 
was  called  a  breakback — that  is,  sloping  down  to  a  height 
of  ten  feet ;  this  low  part  furnishing  a  shelter  for  garden 
tools  and  various  household  instruments.  The  whole 
was  constructed  of  wood,  the  outside  being  of  the  dun 
complexion  assumed  by  unpainted  wood,  exposed  to  the 
weather  for  twenty  or  thirty  years,  save  only  that  the 
roof  was  tinged  of  a  reddish  brown  by  a  fine  moss  that 
found  sustenance  in  the  chestnut  shingles. 

To  the  left  was  the  garden,  which  in  the  productive 


OWN     STORY.  43 

season  was  a  wilderness  of  onions,  squashes,  cucumbers, 
beets,  parsnips,  and  currants,  with  the  never-failing  tansy 
for  bitters,  horseradish  for  seasoning,  and  fennel  for  keep 
ing  old  women  awake  in  church  time. 

The  interior  of  the  house  presented  a  parlor  with  plain, 
whitewashed  walls,  a  home-made  carpet  upon  the  floor, 
calico  curtains  at  the  window,  and  a  mirror  three  feet  by 
two  against  the  side,  with  a  mahogany  frame :  to  these 
must  be  added  eight  chairs  and  a  cherry  table,  of  the 
manufacture  of  Deacon  Hawley.  The  "keeping"  or 
sitting-room  had  also  a  carpet,  a  dozen  rush-bottom  chairs, 
a  table,  &c.  The  kitchen  was  large — fully  twenty  feel 
square,  with  a  fireplace  six  feet  wide  and  four  feet  deep. 
On  one  side  it  looked  out  upon  the  garden,  the  squashes 
and  cucumbers  climbing  up  and  forming  festoons  over 
the  door ;  on  the  other  it  commanded  a  view  of  the 
orchard,  embracing  first  a  circle  of  peaches,  pears,  and 
plums  ;  and  beyond,  a  wide-spread  clover-field,  embower 
ed  with  apple-trees.  Just  by  was  the  well,  with  its  tall 
sweep,  the  old  oaken  bucket  dangling  from  the  pole. 
The  kitchen  was,  in  fact,  the  most  comfortable  room 
in  the  house ;  cool  in  summer,  and  perfumed  with  the 
breath  of  the  garden  and  the  orchard  :  in  winter,  with 
its  roaring  blaze  of  hickory,  it  was  a  cosy  resort,  defying 
the  bitterest  blasts  of  the  season.  Here  the  whole  family 
assembled  at  meals,  except  when  the  presence  of  company 
made  it  proper  to  serve  tea  in  the  parlor. 

The  bed-rooms  were  all  without  carpets,  and  the  furni 
ture  was  generally  of  a  simple  character.  The  beds,  how 
ever,  were  of  ample  size,  and  well  filled  with  geese 
feathers,  these  being  deemed  essential  for  comfortable 
people.  I  must  say,  by  the  way,  that  every  decent 
family  had  its  flock  of  geese,  of  course,  which  was  picked 


44  PETER     PARLEY'S 

thrice  a -year,  despite  the  noisy  remonstrances  of  both 
gcose  and  gander.  The  sheets  of  the  bed,  though  oi 
home-made  linen,-  were  as  white  as  the  driven  snow. 
Indeed,  the  beds  of  this  era  showed  that '  sleep  was  a 
luxury,  well  understood  and  duly  cherished  by  all  classes. 
The  cellar,  extending  under  the  whole  house,  was  by  no 
means  the  least  important  part  of  the  establishment.  In 
the  autumn,  it  was  supplied  with  three  barrels  of  beef 
and  as  man)'  of  pork,  twenty  barrels  of  cider,  with 
numerous  bins  of  potatoes,  turnips,  beets,  carrots,  and 
cabbages.  The  garret,  which  was  of  huge  dimensions, 
at  the  same  time  displayed  a  labyrinth  of  dried  pump 
kins,  peaches,  and  apples,  hung  in  festoons  upon  the  raf 
ters,  amid  bunches  of  summer  savory,  boneset,  fennel,  and 
other  herbs,  the  floor  being  occupied  by  heaps  of  wool, 
flax,  tow,  and  the  like. 

The  barn  corresponded  to  the  house.  It  was  a  low 
brown  structure,  having  abundance  of  sheds  built  on  to 
it,  without  the  least  regard  to  symmetry.  It  was  well 
stocked  with  hay,  oats,  rye,  and  buckwheat.  Six  cows, 
one  or  two  horses,  three  dozen  sheep,  and  an  ample 
supply  of  poultry,  including  two  or  three  broods  of 
turkeys,  constituted  its  living  tenants. 

The  farm  I  need  not  describe  in  detail,  but  the  orchard 
must  not  be  overlooked.  This  consisted  of  three  acres, 
covered,  as  I  have  said,  with  apple-trees,  yielding  abund 
antly — as  well  for  the  cider-mill  as  for  the  table,  includ 
ing  the  indispensable  winter  apple-sauce — according  to 
their  kinds.  I  think  an  apple  orchard  in  the  spring  is 
one  of  the  most  beautiful  objects  in  the  world.  How 
often  have  I  ventured  into  Uncle  Josey's  ample  orchard 
at  this  joyous  season,  and  stood  entranced  among  the 
robins,  blackbirds,  woodpeckers,  bluebirds,  jays,  and 


OWN      STORY.  45 

orioles, — all  seeming  to  me  like  playmates,  racing,  chas 
ing,  singing,  rollicking,  in  the  exuberance  of  their  joy, 
or  perchance  slily  pursuing  their  courtships,  or  even  more 
slily  building  their  nests  and  rearing  their  young. 

The  inmates  of  the  house  I  need  not  describe,  further 
than  to  say  that  Uncle  Josey  himself  was  a  little  deaf, 
and  of  moderate  abilities ;  yet  he  lived  to  good  account, 
for  he  reared  a  large  family,  and  was  gathered  to  his 
fathers  at  a  good  old  age,  leaving  behind  him  a  hand 
some  estate,  a  fair  name,  and  a  good  example.  His  wife, 
who  spent  her  early  life  at  service  in  a  kitchen,  was  a 
handsome,  lively,  efficient  woman,  and  a  universal 
favorite  in  the  neighborhood. 

This  is  the  homely  picture  of  a  Ridgefield  farmer's 
home  half  a  century  ago.  There  were  other  establish 
ments  more  extensive  and  more  sumptuous  in  the  town, 
as  there  were  others  also  of  an  inferior  grade ;  but  this 
was  a  fair  sample  of  the  houses,  barns,  and  farms  of  the 
middle  class. 


CHAPTEK   IY. 

HABITS  OF  THE  PEOPLE— THEIR  COSTUME — AMUSEMENTS— FESTIVALS — MAR* 
BIAUES  —  FUNERALS  —  DANCING  —  WINTER  SPORTS — MX  TWO  GRAND 
MOTHERS— MECHANICAL  GENIUS — IMPORTANCE  OF  WHITTLING— PIGEONS 
— SPORTING  ADVENTURES. 

You  will  now  have  some  ideas  of  the  household  industry 
and  occupations  of  the  country  people  in  Connecticut,  at 
the  beginning  of  the  present  century.  Their  manners, 
in  other  respects,  had  a  corresponding  stamp  of  homeli 
ness  and  simplicity. 

In  most  families,  the  first  exercise  of  the  morning  was 
reading  the  Bible,  followed  by  a  prayer,  at  which  all 
were  assembled,  including  the  servants  and  helpers  of  the 
kitchen  and  the  farm.  Then  came  the  breakfast,  which 
was  a  substantial  meal,  always  including  hot  viands,  with 
vegetables,  apple-sauce,  pickles,  mustard,  horseradish,  and 
various  other  condiments.  Cider  was  the  common  drink 
for  laboring  people  :  even  children  drank  it  at  will.  Tea 
was  common,  but  not  so  general  as  now.  Coffee  was 
almost  unknown.  Dinner  was  a  still  more  hearty  and 
varied  repast — characterised  by  abundance  of  garden 
vegetables  ;  tea  was  a  light  supper. 

The  day  began  early :  the  breakfast  hour  was  six  in 
summer  and  seven  in  winter ;  dinner  was  at  noon — the 
work-people  in  the.  fields  being  called  to  their  meals  by 
a  conchshell  winded  bv  some  kitchen  Triton.  Tea  was 


PETER    PARLEY'S    OWN    STORY.        47 

usually  taken  about  sundown.  In  families  where  all 
were  laborers,  all  sat  at  table,  servants  as  well  as  masters 
—the  food  being  served  before  sitting  down.  In  families 
where  the  masters  and  mistresses  did  not  share  the  labors 
of  the  household  or  the  farm,  the  meals  of  the  domestics 
were  taken  separately.  There  was,  however,  in  those 
days  a  perfectly  good  understanding  and  good  feeling 
between  the  masters  and  servants.  The  latter  were  not 
Irish  :  they  had  not  as  yet  imbibed  the  plebeian  envy  of 
those  above  them,  which  has  since  so  generally  embit 
tered  and  embarrassed  American  domestic  life.  The 
terms  "  democrat "  and  "  aristocrat  "  had  not  got  into 
use :  these  distinctions,  and  the  feelings  now  implied  by 
them,  had  indeed  no  existence  in  the  hearts  of  the  peo 
ple.  Our  servants,  during  all  my  early  life,  were 
generally  the  daughters  of  respectable  farmers  and 
mechanics  in  tlie  neighborhood,  and,  respecting  others, 
were  themselves  respected  and  cherished.  They  were 
devoted  to  the  interests  of  the  family,  and  were  always 
relied  upon  and  treated  as  friends.  In  health  they  had 
the  same  food,  in  sickness  the  same  care,  as  the  masters 
and  mistresses  or  their  children. 

At  the  period  of  my  earliest  recollections,  men  of  all 
classes  were  dressed  in  long,  broad-tailed  coats,  with 
huge  pockets ;  long  waistcoats,  breeches,  and  hats  with 
low  crowns  and  broad  brims :  some  so  wide  as  to  be 
supported  at  the  sides  with  cords.  The  stockings  of  the 
parson,  and  a  few  others,  were  of  silk  in  summer  and 
worsted  in  winter;  those  of  the  people  were  generally 
of  wool.  Women  dressed  in  wide  bonnets,  sometimes 
of  straw  and  sometimes  of  silk ;  and  gowns  of  silk, 
muslin,  gingham,  &c.,  generally  close  and  short-waisted, 
the  breast  and  shoulders  being  covered  by  a  full  muslin 


48  PETER     PARLEY'S 

kerchief.  Girls  ornamented  themselves  with  a  large  white 
vandike.  On  the  whole,  the  dress  of  both  men  and 
women  has  greatly  changed  ;  for  at  Ridgefield,  as  at  less 
remote  places,  the  people  follow,  though  at  a  distance, 
the  fashions  of  Paris. 

The  amusements  were  then  much  the  same  as  at  pres 
ent,  though  some  striking  differences  may  be  noted. 
Books  and  newspapers  were  then  scarce,  and  were  read 
respectfully,  and  as  if  they  were  grave  matters,  demand 
ing  thought  and  attention.  They  were  not  toys  and 
pastimes,  taken  up  every  day,  and  by  everybody,  in  the 
short  intervals  of  labor,  and  then  hastily  dismissed,  like 
waste  paper.  The  aged  sat  down  when  they  read,  and 
drew  forth  their  spectacles,  and  put  them  deliberately 
and  reverently  upon  the  nose.  Even  the  young  ap 
proached  a  book  with  reverence,  and  a  newspaper  with 
awe.  How  the  world  has  changed ! 

The  two  great  festivals  were  Thanksgiving  and  "Train 
ing-day  ;"  the  latter  deriving,  from  the  still  lingering 
spirit  of  the  revolutionary  war,  a  decidedly  martial  char 
acter.  The  marching  of  the  troops,  and  the  discharge 
of  gunpowder,  which  invariably  closed  the  exercises,  were 
glorious  and  inspiring  mementoes  of  heroic  achievements 
upon  many  a  bloody  field.  The  music  of  the  drum  and 
fife  resounded  on  every  side.  A  match  between  two 
rival  drummers  always  drew  an  admiring  crowd,  and 
was  in  fact  one  of  the  chief  excitements  of  the  great  day. 

Tavern-haunting,  especially  in  winter,  when  there  was 
little  to  do,  for  manufactures  had  not  then  sprung  up  to 
give  profitable  occupation  during  this  inclement  season, 
was  common  even  with  respectable  farmers.  Marriages 
were  celebrated  in  the  evening,  at  the  house  of  the 
bride,  with  a  general  gathering  of  the  neighborhood,  and 


OWN8TORY.  49 

were  usually  finished  off  by  dancing.  Everybody  went, 
as  to  a  public  exhibition,  without  invitation.  Funerals 
generally  dre\v  large  processions,  which  proceeded  to  the 
grave.  Here  the  minister  always  made  an  address  suited 
to  the  occasion.  If  there  were  anything  remarkable  in 
the  history  of  the  deceased,  it  was  turned  to  religious  ac 
count  in  the  next  Sunday's  sermon.  Singing-meetings, 
to  practise  church  music,  were  a  great  resource  for  the 
young  in  winter.  Dances  at  private  houses  were  com 
mon,  and  drew  no  reproaches  from  the  sober  people  pres 
ent.  Balls  at  the  taverns  were  frequented  by  the  young ; 
the  children  of  deacons  and  ministers  attended,  though 
the  parents  did  not.  The  winter  brought  sleighing, 
skating,  and  the  usual  round  of  indoor  sports.  In  gene 
ral,  the  intercourse  of  all  classes  was  kindly  and»  con 
siderate,  no  one  arrogating  superiority,  and  yet  no  one 
refusing  to  acknowledge  it  where  it  existed.  You  would 
hardly  have  noticed  that  there  was  a  higher  and  a  lower 
class.  Such  there  were,  certainly  ;  for  there  must  al 
ways  and  everywhere  be  the  strong  and  the  weak,  the 
wise  and  the  foolish.  But  in  our  society  these  existed 
without  being  felt  as  a  privilege  to  one,  which  must  give 
offence  to  another. 

It  may  serve  in  some  degree  to  throw  light  upon 
the  manners  and  customs  of  this  period,  if  I  give  you  a 
sketch  of  my  two  grandmothers.  Both  were  widows, 
and  were  well  stricken  in  years  when  they  came  to  visit 
us  at  Ridgefield,  about  the  year  1803—4.  My  grand 
mother  Ely  was  a  lady  of  the  old  school,  and  sustaining 
the  character  in  her  upright  carriage,  her  long,  tapering 
waist,  and  her  high-heeled  shoes.  The  customs  of  Louis 
XV.'s  time  had  prevailed  in  New  York  and  Boston,  and 
even  at  this  period  they  still  lingered  there  in  isolated 
5 


50  PETER      PAKLEY'S 

cases.  It  is  curious  enough,  that  at  this  time  the  female 
attire  of  a  century  ago  is  revived  ;  and  every  black-eyed, 
stately  old  lady,  dressed  in  black  silk,  and  showing  her 
steel-grey  hair  beneath  her  cap,  reminds  me  of  my  ma 
ternal  grandmother. 

My  other  grandmother  was  in  all  things  the  opposite ; 
short,  fat,  blue-eyed,  and  practical ;  a  good  example  of  a 
hearty  country  dame.  I  scarcely  knew  which  of  the  two 
I  liked  the  best.  The  first  sang  me  plaintive  songs,  told 
me  stories  of  the  Revolution — her  husband,  Col.  Ely, 
having  had  a  large  and  painful  share  in  its  vicissitudes — 
she  described  Gen.  Washington,  whom  she  had  seen ; 
and  the  French  officers,  Lafayette,  Rochambeau,  and 
others,  who  had  been  inmates  of  her  house.  She  told 
me  tales  of  even  more  ancient  date,  and  recited  poetry, 
generally  ballads,  which  were  suited  to  my  taste.  And 
all  this  lore  was  commended  to  me  by  a  voice  of  inimit 
able  tenderness,  and  a  manner  at  once  lofty  and  conde 
scending.  My  other  grandmother  was  not  less  kind,  but 
she  promoted  my  happiness  and  prosperity  in  another 
way.  Instead  of  stories,  she  gave  me  bread  and  butter : 
in  place  of  poetry,  she  fed  me  with  apple-sauce  and  pie. 
Never  was  there  a  more  hearty  old  lady  :  she  had  a  firm 
conviction  that  children  must  be  fed,  and  what  she  be 
lieved  she  practised. 

I  can  recollect  with  great  vividness  the  interest  I  took 
in  the  domestic  events  I  have  described.  The  operations 
of  the  farm  had  no  great  attractions  for  me.  Ploughing, 
hoeing,  digging,  seemed  to  me  mere  drudgery,  imparting 
no  instruction,  and  affording  no  scope  for  ingenuity  or 
invention. 

Mechanical  operations,  especially  those  of  the  weaver 
and  carpenter,  on  the  contrary,  stimulated  my  curiosity, 


.OWN      STORY.  51 

and  excited  my  emulation.  Thus  I  soon  became  familiar 
with  the  carpenter's  tools,  and  made  such  windmills, 
kites,  and  perpetual  motions,  as  to  win  the  admiration  of 
my  playmates,  and  excite  the  respect  of  my  parents ;  so 
that  they  seriously  meditated  putting  me  apprentice  to  8 
carpenter.  Up  to  the  age  of  fourteen,  I  think  this  waa 
regarded  as  my  manifest  destiny.  It  was  a  day  of  great 
endeavors  among  all  inventive  geniuses.  Fulton  was 
struggling  to  develop  steam  navigation ;  and  other  dis 
coverers  were  seeking  to  unfold  the  wonders  of  art  as 
well  as  of  nature.  It  was,  in  fact,  the  very  threshold  of 
the  era  of  steam-boats,  railroads,  electric  telegraphs,  and  a 
thousand  other  useful  discoveries,  which  have  since  changed 
the  face  of  the  world.  In  this  age  of  excitement,  perpet 
ual  motion  was  the  great  hobby  of  aspiring  mechanics. 
I  pondered  and  whittled  intensely  on  this  subject  before 
I  was  ten  years  old.  Despairing  of  reaching  my  object 
by  mechanical  means,  I  attempted  to  arrive  at  it  by 
magnetism,  my  father  having  bought  me  a  pair  of  horse 
shoe  magnets  in  one  of  his  journeys  to  New  Haven.  J 
should  have  succeeded,  had  it  not  been  a  principle  in  the 
nature  of  this  curious  element,  that  no  substance  will  in 
tercept  the  stream  of  attraction.  I  tried  to  change  the 
poles,  and  turn  the  north  against  the  south  ;  but  there, 
too,  nature  had  headed  me,  and  of  course  I  failed. 

A  word,  by  the  way,  on  the  matter  of  whittling.  This 
is  generally  represented  as  a  sort  of  idle,  fidgety,  frivo 
lous  use  of  the  penknife,  and  is  set  down,  by  foreigners 
and  sketchers  of  American  manners,  as  a  peculiar  charac 
teristic  of  our  people.  No  portrait  of  an  American  is 
deemed  complete,  unless  with  penknife  and  shingle  in 
hand.  I  feel  not  the  slightest  disposition  to  resent  even, 
this,  among  the  thousand  caricatures  that  pass  for  traits 


62  PETEB     PARLEY-' 8 

of  American  life.  For  my  own  part,  I  can  testify  that, 
during  my  youthful  days,  I  found  the  penknife  a  source 
of  great  amusement,  and  even  of  instruction.  Many  a 
long  winter  evening,  many  a  dull,  drizzly  day,  in  spring, 
and  summer,  and  autumn — sometimes  at  the  kitchen  fire 
side,  sometimes  in  the  attic,  sometimes  in  a  cosy  nook  of 
the  barn,  sometimes  in  the  shelter  of  a  neighboring  stone 
wall,  thatched  over  with  wild  grape-vines — have  I  spent 
in  great  ecstasy,  making  candle-rods,  or  some  other  sim 
ple  article  of  household  goods,  for  my  mother ;  or  in 
perfecting  toys  for  myself  and  my  young  friends ;  or  per 
haps  in  attempts  at  more  ambitious  achievements.  This 
was  not  mere  waste  of  time ;  mere  idleness  and  dissipa 
tion.  I  was  amused  :  that  was  something.  Some  of  the 
pleasantest  remembrances  of  my  childhood  carry  me  back 
to  the  scenes  I  have  just  indicated  ;  when,  in  happy  soli 
tude,  absorbed  in  my  mechanical  devices,  I  listened  to 
the  rain  pattering  upon  the  roof,  or  the  wind  roaring 
down  the  chimney:  thus  enjoying  a  double  bliss,  a  pleas 
ing  occupation,  with  a  conscious  delight  in  my  sense  of 
security  from  the  rage  of  the  elements  without. 

Nay  more ;  these  occupations  were  instructive :  my 
mind  was  stimulated  to  inquire  into  the  mechanical  pow 
ers,  and  my  hand  was  educated  to  mechanical  dexterity. 
If  you  ask  me  why  it  is  that  this  important  institution  of 
whittling  is  indigenous  among  us,  I  reply  that,  in  the 
first  place,  our  country  is  full  of  a  great  variety  of  woods, 
suited  to  carpentry,  many  of  them  easily  wrought,  and 
thus  inviting  boyhood  to  try  its  hands  upon  them.  In 
the  next  place,  labor  is  dear ;  and  therefore  even  children 
are  led  to  supply  themselves  with  toys,  or  perchance  to 
furnish  some  of  the  simpler  articles  of  use  to  the  house 
hold.  This  dearness  of  labor,  moreover,  furnishes  a 


OWN      STORY.  53 

powerful  stimulant  to  the  production  of  labor-saving 
machines  ;  and  hence  it  is — through  all  these  causes  co 
operating  one  with  another — that  steam-navigation,  the 
electric  telegraph,  the  steam-reaper,  <fec.,  <fcc.,  are  American 
inventions :  hence  it  is  that,  whether  it  be  at  the  World's 
Fair  at  London  or  Paris,  we  gain  a  greater  proportion  of 
prizes  for  useful  inventions  than  any  other  people.  That 
is  what  comes  of  whittling  ! 

I  must  add,  that  in  these  early  days  I  was  a  Nimrod, 
a  mighty  hunter ;  first  with  a  bow  and  arrow,  and  after 
wards  with  the  old  hereditary  firelock,  which  snapped  six 
times  and  went  off  once.  The  smaller  kinds  of  game 
were  abundant.  The  thickets  teemed  with  quails  ;*  par 
tridges  drummed  in  every  wood  ;  the  gray  squirrel — the 
most  picturesque  animal  of  our  forests — enlivened  every 
hickory  copse  with  his  mocking  laugh,  his  lively  gam 
bols,  and  his  long,  bushy  tail.  The  pigeons,  in  spring 
and  autumn,  migrated  in  countless  flocks  ;  and  many  lin 
gered  in  our  woods  for  the  season. 

Everybody  was  then  a  hunter ;  not,  of  course,  a  sports 
man  :  for  the  chase  was  followed  more  for  profit  than  for 
pastime.  Game  was,  in  point  of  fact,  a  substantial  por 
tion  of  the  supply  of  food  at  certain  seasons  of  the  year. 
All  were  then  good  shots,  and  my  father  was  no  excep 
tion  :  he  was  even  beyond  his  generation  in  netting 
pigeons.  This  was  not  deemed  a  reproach  at  that  time 
in  a  clergyman ;  nor  was  he  the  only  parson  that  in 
dulged  in  these  occupations.  One  day,  as  I  was  with 
him  on  Wet-t  Mountain,  baiting  pigeons,  we  had  seduced 

*  The  American  quail  is  a  species  of  partridge,  in  size  between 
the  European  quail  and  partridge.     The  partridge  of  New  England 
is  the  pheasant  of  the  South,  and  the  ruffed  grouse  of  the  naturalists. 
5* 


54  PETER     PARLEY'S 

a  flock  of  three  or  four  dozen  down  into  the  bed  where 
they  were  feeding ;  my  father  and  myself  lying  concealed 
in  our  bush-hut,  close  by.  Suddenly,  whang  went  a  gun 
into  the  middle  of  the  flock  !  Out  we  ran  in  great  indig 
nation  ;  for  at  least  a  dozen  of  the  birds  were  bleeding 
and  fluttering  before  us.  Scarcely  had  we  reached  the 

spot,  when  we  met  Parson  M ,  of  Lower  Salem,  who 

had  thus  unwittingly  poached  upon  us.  The  two  clergy 
men  had  first  a  squabble,  and  then  a  good  laugh  ;  after 
which  they  divided  the  plunder  and  then  parted. 

The  stories  told  by  Wilson  and  Audubon  as  to  the 
amazing  quantity  of  pigeons  in  the  West,  were  realized 
by  us  in  Connecticut  half-a-century  ago.  I  have  seen,  in 
the  county  of  Fairfield,  a  stream  of  these  noble  birds 
pouring  at  brief  intervals  through  the  skies,  from  the 
rising  to  the  setting  sun.  Of  all  the  pigeon  tribe,  this 
of  our  country — the  passenger  pigeon — is  the  swiftest 
and  most  beautiful.  At  the  same  time,  it  is  unquestion 
ably  superior  to  any  other  for  the  table.  All  the  other 
species  of  the  eastern,  as  well  as  the  western  continent, 
which  I  have  tasted,  are  soft  and  flavorless  in  comparison. 

I  can  recollect  no  sports  of  my  youth  which  equalled 
in  excitement  our  pigeon  hunts,  which  generally  took 
place  in  September  and  October.  We  usually  started  on 
horseback  before  daylight,  and  made  a  rapid  progress  to 
some  stubble-field  on  West  Mountain.  The  ride  in  the 
keen,  fresh  air,  especially  as  the  dawn  began  to  break, 
was  delightful.  The  gradual  encroachment  of  day  upon 
the  night  filled  my  mind  with  sublime  images :  the 
waking  up  of  a  world  from  sleep,  the  joyousness  of  birds 
and  beasts  in  the  return  of  morning,  and  my  own  sym 
pathy  in  this  cheerful  and  grateful  homage  of  the  heart 
to  God,  the  Giver  of  good — all  contributed  to  render 


OWN     STORY.  65 

these  adventures  most  impressive  upon  my  young  heart. 
My  memory  is  still  full  of  the  sights  and  sounds  of  those 
glorious  mornings  :  the  silvery  whistle  of  the  wings  of 
migrating  flocks  of  plover,  invisible  in  the  gray  mists  of 
dawn ;  the  faint  murmur  of  the  distant  mountain  tor 
rents  ;  the  sonorous  gong  of  the  long-trailing  flocks  of 
wild  geese,  seeming  to  come  from  the  unseen  depths  of 
the  skies — these  were  among  the  suggestive  sounds  that 
stole  through  the  dim  twilight.  As  morning  advanced, 
the  scene  was  inconceivably  beautiful :  the  mountain 
sides,  clothed  in  autumnal  green,  and  purple,  and  gold, 
rendered  more  glowing  by  the  sunrise — with  the  valleys 
covered  with  mists,  and  spreading  out  like  lakes  of  sil 
ver  ;  while  on  every  side  the  ear  was  saluted  by  the 
mocking  screams  of  the  red-headed  woodpecker,  the 
cawing  of  congresses  of  crows ;  and,  finally,  the  rushing 
sound  of  the  pigeons,  pouring  like  a  tide  over  the  tops 
of  the  trees. 

By  this  time  of  course  our  nets  were  ready,  and  our 
flyers  and  stool-birds  on  the  alert.  What  moments  of 
ecstasy  were  these,  and  especially  when  the  head  of  the 
flock — some  red-breasted  old  father  or  grandfather — 
caught  the  sight  of  our  pigeons,  and  turning  at  the  call, 
drew  the  whole  train  down  into  our  net-bed !  I  have 
often  seen  a  hundred,  or  two  hundred  of  these  splendid 
birds,  come  upon  us,  with  a  noise  absolutely  deafening. 
Sometimes  our  bush-hut,  where  we  lay  concealed,  was 
covered  all  over  with  pigeons,  and  we  dared  not  move  a 
finger,  as  their  red,  piercing  eyes  were  upon  us.  When 
at  last,  with  a  sudden  pull  of  the  rope,  the  net  was 
sprung,  and  we  went  out  to  secure  our  booty — often  fifty, 
and  sometimes  even  a  hundred  birds — I  felt  a  fulness  of 
triumph  which  words  are  wholly  inadequate  to  express  1 


68  PETER    PARLEY'S 

Up  to  the  age  of  eight  years  I  was  never  trusted  with 
a  gun.  Whenever  I  went  forth  as  a  sportsman  on  my  own 
account,  it  was  only  with  a  bow  and  arrow.  My  per 
formances  as  a  hunter  were  very  moderate.  In  truth,  I 
had  a  rickety  old  gun,  that  had  belonged  to  my  grand 
father,  and  though  it  perhaps  had  done  good  service  in 
the  Revolution,  or  further  back  in  the  times  of  bears  and 
wolves,  it  was  now  very  decrepit,  and  all  around  the  lock 
seemed  to  have  the  shaking  palsy.  Occasionally  I  met 
with  adventures,  half  serious  and  half  ludicrous.  Once, 
in  running  my  hand  into  a  hole  in  a  hollow  tree,  some 
twenty  feet  from  the  ground,  being  in  search  of  a  wood 
pecker,  I  hauled  out  a  blacksnake.  At  another  time,  in 
a  similar  way,  I  had  my  fingers  pretty  sharply  nipped  by 
a  screech-owl.  My  memory  supplies  me  with  numerous 
instances  of  this  kind. 

As  to  fishing,  I  never  had  a  passion  for  it :  I  was  too 
impatient.  I  had  no  enthusiasm  for  nibbles,  and  there 
were  too  many  of  these  in  proportion  to  the  bites.  I 
perhaps  resembled  a  man  by  the  name  of  Bennett,  who 
joined  the  Shakers  of  New  Canaan  about  these  days,  but 
soon  left  them,  declaring  that  the  Spirit  was  too  long  in 
coming — "  he  could  not  wait."  Nevertheless,  I  dreamed 
away  some  pleasant  hours  in  angling  in  the  brooks  and 
ponds  of  my  native  town.  I  well  remember,  that  on  my 
eighth  birthday  I  went  four  miles  to  Burt's  mills,  carry 
ing  on  the  old  mare  two  bushels  of  rye.  While  my  grist 
was  being  ground  I  angled  in  the  pond,  and  carried 
home  enpugh  for  a  generous  meal. 

Now  all  these  things  may  seem  trifles,  yet  in  a  review 
of  my  life  I  deem  them  of  some  significance.  This 
homely  familiarity  with  the  more  mechanical  arts  was  a 
material  part  of  my  education  :  this  communion  with 


OWNSTOBY.  67 

nature  gave  me  instructive  and  important  lessons  from 
nature's  open  book  of  knowledge.*  My  technical  educa 
tion,  as  will  be  seen  hereafter,  was  extremely  narrow  and 
irregular.  This  defect  was  at  least  partially  supplied  by 
the  commonplace  incidents  I  have  mentioned.  The 
teachings,  or  rather  the  training  of  the  senses,  in  the 
country — ear  and  oye,  foot  and  hand,  by  running,  leap 
ing,  climbing  over  hill  and  mountain,  by  occasional  labor 
in  the  garden  and  on  the  farm,  and  by  the  use  of  tools, 
and  all  this  in  youth — is  sowing  seed  which  is  repaid 
largely  and  readily  to  the  hand  of  after-cultivation,  how 
ever  unskilful  it  may  be.  This  is  not  so  much  because 
of  the  amount  of  knowledge  available  in  after-life,  which 
is  thus  obtained — though  this  is  not  to  be  despised — as 
it  is  that  healthful,  vigorous,  manly  habits  and  associa 
tions,  physical,  moral,  and  intellectual,  are  thus  estab 
lished  and  developed. 


CHAPTER    V. 

DEATH  OF  WASHINGTON— JEROME  BONAPARTE  AND  MISS  PATTERSON— 8OTC- 

DAT   TEAVELLING OLIVER   WOLCOTT — TIMOTHY  PICKEBING — AMKRICAN 

POLITENESS  QUITE  NATUEAL — LOCOMOTION — PUBLIC  CONVEYANCES — MY 
FATHER'S  CHAISE. 

THE  incidents  I  have  just  related  occurred  about  the 
year  1800 — some  a  little  earlier  and  some  a  little  later. 
Among  the  events  of  general  interest  that  happened  near 
this  time  I  remember  the  death  of  Washington,  which 
took  place  in  1799,  and  was  commemorated  all  through 
the  country  by  the  tolling  of  bells,  funeral  ceremonies, 
orations,  sermons,  hymns,  and  dirges,  attended  by  a 
mournful  sense  of  his  loss,  which  seemed  to  cast  a  pall 
over  the  entire  heavens.  In  Ridgcfield  the  meeting 
house  was  dressed  in  black,  and  we  had  a  discourse  pro 
nounced  by  a  Mr.  Edmonds,  of  Newtown.  The  subject, 
indeed,  engrossed  all  minds.  Lieutenant  Smith  came 
every  day  to  our  house  to  talk  over  the  event,  and  to 
bring  us  the  proceedings  in  different  parts  of  the  coun 
try.  Among  other  papers  he  brought  us  a  copy  of  the 
Connecticut  Courant,  which  gave  us  the  particulars  of 
the  rites  and  ceremonies  which  took  place  in  Hartford  in 
commemoration  of  the  great  man's  decease.  The  cele 
brated  hymn,  written  for  the  occasion  by  Theodore 
Dwight,  sank  into  my  mother's  heart — for  she  had  a 
constitutional  love  of  things  mournful  and  poetical — and 


PETER     PARLEY'S     OWN      STORY.  69 

she  often  repeated  it,  so  that  it  became  a  part  of  the 
cherished  lore  of  my  childhood. 

I  give  you  these  scenes  and  feelings  in  some  detail,  to 
impress  you  with  the  depth  and  sincerity  of  this  mourn 
ing  of  the  American  nation,  in  cities  and  towns,  in  vil 
lages  and  hamlets,  for  the  death  of  Washington. 

I  have  already  said  that  Ridgefield  was  on  the  great 
thoroughfare  between  Boston  and  New  York,  for  the  day 
of  steamers  and  railroads  had  not  dawned.  Even  the 
mania  for  turnpikes,  which  ere  long  overspread  New 
England,  had  not  yet  arrived.  The  stage-coaches  took 
four  days  to  make  the  trip  of  two  hundred  miles  be 
tween  the  two  great  cities.  In  winter,  during  the  furious 
snow-storms,  the  journey  was  often  protracted  to  seven, 
eight,  or  ten  days.  With  such  public  conveyances,  great 
people — for  even  then  the  world  was  divided  into  the 
great  and  little,  as  it  is  now — travelled  in  their  own  car 
riages. 

About  this  time — it  must  have  been  in  the  summer  of 
1804 — I  remember  Jerome  Bonaparte  coming  up  to 
Keeler's  tavern  with  a  coach  and  four,  attended  by  his 
youag  wife,  Miss  Patterson  of  Baltimore.  It  was  a  gay 
establishment,  and  the  honeymoon  sat  happily  on  the 
tall,  sallow  stripling  and  his  young  bride.  You  must  re 
member  that  Napoleon  was  then  filling  the  world  with 
his  fame :  at  this  moment  his  feet  were  on  the  threshold 
of  the  empire.  The  arrival  of  his  brother  in  the  United 
States  of  course  made  a  sensation.  His  marriage,  his 
movements,  all  were  gossipped  over  from  Maine  to 
Georgia,  the  extreme  points  of  the  Union.  His  entrance 
into  Ridgefield  produced  a  flutter  of  excitement  even  there. 
A  crowd  gathered  around  Keeler's  tavern  to  catch  a  sight 
of  the  strangers,  and  I  was  among  the  rest.  I  had  a 


60  PETBB     PARLEY'S 

good,  look  at  Jerome,  who  was  the  chief  object  of  inter 
est,  and  the  image  never  faded  from  my  recollection. 

Half  a  century  later,  I  was  one  evening  at  the  Tuiler- 
ies,  amid  the  flush  and  the  fair  of  Louis  Napoleon's  new 
court.  Among  them  I  saw  an  old  man,  .taller  than  the 
mass  around — his  nose  and  chin  almost  meeting  in  con 
tact,  while  his  toothless  gums  were  "  munching  the  airy 
meal  of  dotage  and  decrepitude."  I  was  irresistibly 
chained  to  this  object,  as  if  a  spectre  had  risen  up 
through  the  floor  and  stood  among  the  garish  throng. 
My  memory  travelled  back — back  among  the  winding 
labyrinths  of  years.  Suddenly  I  found  the  clue :  the 
stranger  was  Jerome  Bonaparte ! 

Ah,  what  a  history  lay  between  the  past  and  present 
— a  lapse  of  nearly  fifty  years.  What  a  difference  be 
tween  him  then  and  now  !  Then  he  was  a  gay  and  gal 
lant  bridegroom  ;  now,  though  he  had  the  title  of  king, 
he  was  throneless  and  sceptreless — an  Invalid  Governor 
of  Invalids — the  puppet  and  pageant  of  an  adventurer, 
whose  power  lay  in  the  mere  magic  of  a  name. 

About  this  time,  as  I  well  remember,  Oliver  Wolcott 
passed  through  our  village.  He  arrived  at  the  tavern 
late  on  Saturday  evening,  but  he  called  at  our  house  in 
the  morning,  his  family  being  connected  with  ours.  He 
was  a  great  man  then ;  for  not  only  are  the  Wolcotts 
traditionally  and  historically  a  distinguished  race  in 
Connecticut,  but  he  had  recently  been  a  member  of 
Washington's  cabinet.  I  mention  him  now  only  for  the 
purpose  of  nothing  his  deference  to  public  opinion, 
characteristic  of  the  eminent  men  of  that  day.  In  the 
morning  he  went  to  church,  but  immediately  after  the 
sermon  he  had  his  horses  brought  up,  and  proceeded  on 
his  way.  He,  however,  had  requested  my  father  to  state 


OWN8TORT.  61 

to  his  people,  at  the  opening  of  the  afternoon  service,  that 
he  was  travelling  on  public  business,  and  though  he  re 
gretted  it,  he  was  obliged  to  continue  his  journey  on  the 
Sabbath.  This  my  father  did,  but  Deacon  Olmstead,  the 
Jeremiah  of  the  parish,  shook  his  white  locks,  and  lifted 
up  his  voice  against  such  a  desecration  of  the  Lord's  day. 
Some  years  after,  as  I  remember,  Lieutenant-Governor 
Treadwell  arrived  at  Keeler's  tavern  on  Saturday  even 
ing,  and  prepared  to  prosecute  his  journey  the  next 
morning,  his  daughter,  who  was  with  him,  being  ill. 
This  same  Deacon  Olmstead  called  upon  him,  and  said, 
"  Sir,  if  you  thus  set  the  example  of  violation  of  the 
Sabbath,  you  must  expect  to  get  one  vote  less  at  the  next 
election !"  The  Governor  was  so  much  struck  by  the 
appearance  of  the  deacon,  who  was  the  very  image  of  a 
patriarch  or  a  prophet,  that  he  deferred  his  departure  till 
Monday. 

Although  great  people  rode  in  their  own  carriages,  the 
principal  method  of  travelling  was  on  horseback.  Many 
of  the  members  of  Congress  came  to  Washington  in  this 
way.  I  have  a  dim  recollection  of  seeing  one  day,  when 
I  was  trudging  along  to  school,  a  tall,  pale,  gaunt  man, 
approaching  on  horseback,  with  his  plump  saddlebags 
behind  him.  I  looked  at  him  keenly,  and  made  my 
obeisance,  as  in  duty  bound.  He  lifted  his  hat,  and 
bowed  in  return.  By  a  quick  instinct,  I  sat  him  down 
as  a  man  of  mark.  In  the  evening,  Lieutenant  Smith 
came  to  our  house  and  told  us  that  Timothy  Pickering 
had  passed  through  the  town !  He  had  seen  him,  and 
talked  with  him,  and  was  vastly  distended  with  the  por 
tentous  news  thereby  acquired,  including  the  rise  and 
fall  of  empires  for  ages  to  come,  and  all  of  which  he  duly 
unfolded  to  our  family  circle. 


62  PETER     PARLEY'S 

Before  I  proceed,  let  me  note,  in  passing,  a  point  of 
manners  then  universal,  but  which  has  now  nearly  faded 
away.  When  travellers  met  on  the  highway,  they  saluted 
each  other  with  a  certain  dignified  and  formal  courtesy. 
All  children  were  regularly  taught  at  school  to  "  make 
their  manners "  to  strangers  ;  the  boys  to  bow,  and  the 
girls  to  courtesy.  It  was  something  different  from  the 
frank,  familiar,  "  How  are  you,  stranger  ?"  of  the  Far 
West ;  something  different  from  the  "  Bon  jour,  servi- 
teur?  of  the  Alps.  Our  salute  was  more  measured  and 
formal ;  respect  to  age  and  authority  being  evidently  an 
element  of  this  homage,  which  was  sedulously  taught  to 
the  young. 

For  children  to  salute  travellers  was,  in  my  early  days, 
as  well  a  duty  as  a  decency.  A  child  who  did  not 
"  make  his  manners  "  to  a  stranger  on  the  high-road  was 
deemed  a  low  fellow ;  a  stranger  who  refused  to  acknowl 
edge  this  civility  was  esteemed  a  sans  culotte,  perhaps  a 
favorer  of  Jacobinism. 

But  I  must  return  to  locomotion.  In  Ridgefield,  in 
the  year  1800,  there  was  but  a  single  chaise,  and  that 
belonged  to  Colonel  Bradley,  one  of  the  principal  citizens 
of  the  place.  It  was  without  a  top,  and  had  a  pair  of 
wide-spreading,  asinine  ears.  That  multitudinous  gene 
ration  of  travelling  vehicles,  so  universal  and  so  con 
venient  now — such  as  top-wagons,  fourwheeled  chaises, 
tilburies,  dearborns,  &c.,  was  totally  unknown.  Even  if 
these  things  had  been  invented,  the  roads  would  scarcely 
have  permitted  the  use  of  them.  Physicians  who  had 
occasion  to  go  from  town  to  town  went  on  horseback ; 
all  clergymen,  except  perhaps  Bishop  Seabury,  who  rode 
in  a  coach,  travelled  in  the  same  way.  My  father's  peo 
ple,  who  lived  at  a  distance,  came  to  church  on  horse- 


OWN      STORY.  63 

back ;  their  wives  and  daughters  being  seated  on  pillions 
behind  them.  In  a  few  cases — as  in  spring-time,  when 
the  mud  was  bottomless — the  farm  wagon  was  used  for 
transporting  the  family. 

In  winter  it  was  otherwise,  for  we  had  three  or  four 
months  of  sleighing.  Then  the  whole  country  was  a 
railroad,  and  gay  times  we  had.  Oh!  those  beautiful 
winters,  which  would  drive  me  shivering  to  the  fireside 
now  :  what  vivid  delight  have  I  had  in  their  slidings  and 
skatings,  their  sleddings  and  sleighings !  One  thing 
strikes  me  now  with  wonder,  and  that  is,  the  general  in 
difference  in  those  days  to  the  intensity  of  winter.  No 
doubt,  as  I  have  said  before,  the  climate  was  then  more 
severe ;  but,  be  that  as  it  may,  people  seemed  to  suffer 
less  from  it  than  at  the  present  day.  Nobody  thought 
of  staying  at  home  from  church  because  of  the  extremity 
of  the  weather.  We  had  no  thermometers,  it  is  true,  to 
frighten  us  with  the  revelation  that  it  was  twenty-five 
degrees  below  zero.  The  habits  of  the  people  were  sim 
ple  and  hardy,  and  there  were  few  defences  against  the 
assaults  of  the  seasons.  The  houses  were  not  tight;  we 
had  no  stoves,  no  Lehigh  or  Lackawanna  coal ;  yet  we 
lived,  and  comfortably,  too  :  nay,  we  even  changed  burly 
winter  into  a  season  of  enjoyment. 

I  have  said  that,  in  the  year  1800,  there  was  but  a 
single  chaise  in  Ridgefield  ;  and  this  was  brought,  I  be 
lieve,  from  New  Haven.  There  was  not,  I  imagine,  a 
coach,  or  any  kind  of  pleasure-vehicle — that  crazy  old 
chaise  excepted — in  the  county  of  Fairfield,  out  of  the 
two  half-shire  towns.  Such  things,  indeed,  were  known 
at  New  York,  Boston,  and  Philadelphia ;  for  already  the 
government  had  laid  a  tax  upon  pleasure  conveyances : 
but  they  were  comparatively  few  in  number,  and  were 


64    PETER  PARLEY'S  OWN  BTORY. 

mostly  imported.  In  1798  there  was  but  one  public 
hack  in  New  Haven,  and  but  one  coach ;  the  latter,  be 
longing  to  Pierpoint  Edwards,  was  a  large,  four-wheeled 
vehicle,  for  two  persons,  called  a  chariot.  In  the  smaller 
towns  there  were  no  pleasure  vehicles  in  use  throughout 
New  England. 

About  that  time  there  came  to  our  village  a  man  by 
the  name  of  Jesse  Skellinger,  an  Englishman,  and 
chaisemaker  by  trade.  My  father  engaged  him  to  build 
him  a  chaise.  A  bench  was  set  up  in  our  barn,  and  cer 
tain  trees  of  oak  and  ash  were  cut  in  our  neighboring 
woods.  These  were  sawed  and  seasoned,  and  shaped 
into  wheels  and  shafts.  Thomas  Hawley,  half  black 
smith,  and  half  wheelwright,  was  duly  initiated,  and  he 
cunningly  wrought  the  iron  necessary  for  the  work.  In 
five  months  the  chaise  was  finished,  with  a  standing  top ; 
greatly  to  the  admiration  of  our  family.  What  a  gaze 
was  there,  as  this  vehicle  went  through  Bidgefield  street 
upon  its  first  expedition  ! 

This  was  the  beginning  of  the  chaise-manufactory  in 
Ridgefield,  which  has  since  been  a  source  of  large  reve 
nue  to  the  town.  Skellinger  was  engaged  by  Elijah 
Hawley,  who  had  formerly  done  something  as  a  wagon- 
builder  ;  and  thus  in  due  time  an  establishment  was 
founded,  which  for  many  years  was  noted  for  the  beauty 
and  excellence  of  its  pleasure  vehicles. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THK    UPPER    AND    LOWER    CLASSES    OF    BIDQEFIELD — MASTEK    STEBBIN8    AUD 

HIS  SCHOOL —  WHAT  is  A  NOUS? — DEACON  BENEDICT  AND  HIS  MAN 

ABIGAH— MY  LATIN   ACQUIREMENTS— FAMILY  WORSHIP — WIDOW   BENNETT 
—THE  TEMPLE   OF  DAGON. 

EIDGEFIELD,  as  well  as  most  other  places,  had  its  Up 
town  and  Down-town  ;  terms  which  have  not  unfre- 
quently  been  the  occasion  of  serious  divisions  in  the 
affairs  of  Church  and  State.  In  London  this  distinction 
takes  the  name  of  West  End  and  the  City.  The  French 
philosophers  say  that  every  great  capital  has  similar 
divisions ;  West  End  being  always  the  residence  of  the 
aristocracy,  and  East  End  of  the  canaille. 

Ridgefield,  being  a  village,  had  a  right  to  follow  its 
own  whim;  and  therefore  West  Lane,  instead  of  being 
the  aristocratic  end  of  the  place,  was  really  rather  the 
low  end.  It  constituted,  in  fact, -what  was  called  Down 
town,  in  distinction  from  the  more  eastern  and  northern 
section,  called  Up-town.  In  this  latter  portion,  and 
about  the  middle  of  the  main  street,  was  the  Up-town 
school,  the  leading  seminary  of  the  village ;  for  at  this 
period  it  had  not  arrived  at  the  honors  of  an  academy. 
At  the  age  of  ten  years  I  was  sent  here,  the  institution 
being  then,  and  for  many  years  after,  under  the  charge 
of  Master  Stebbins.  He  was  a  man  with  a  conciliating 
stoop  in  the  shoulders,  a  long  body,  short  legs,  and  a 


66  PETER     PARLEY'S 

swaying  walk.  He  was  at  this  period  some  fifty  years 
old,  his  hair  being  thin  and  silvery,  and  always  falling 
in  well-combed  rolls  over  his  coat-collar.  His  eyes 
were  blue,  and  his  dress  invariably  of  the  same  color. 
Breeches  and  knee-buckles,  blue-mixed  stockings,  and 
shoes  with  bright  buckles,  seemed  as  much  a  part  of  the 
man  as  his  head  and  shoulders.  On  the  whole,  his  ap 
pearance  was  that  of  the  middle-class  gentleman  of  the 
olden  time ;  and  he  was,  in  fact,  what  he  seemed. 

This  seminary  of  learning  for  the  rising  aristocracy  of 
Ridgefield  was  a  wooden  edifice,  thirty  by  twenty  feet, 
covered  with  brown  clapboards,  and,  except  an  entry, 
consisted  of  a  single  room.  Around,  and  against  the 
walls,  ran  a  continuous  line  of  seats,  fronted  by  a  con 
tinuous  writing-desk.  Beneath  were  depositories  for 
books  and  writing  materials.  The  centre  was  occupied 
by  slab  seats,  similar  to  those  of  West  Lane.  The 
larger  scholars  were  ranged  on  the  outer  sides,  at  the 
desks;  the  smaller  fry  of  abecedarians  were  seated  in 
the  centre.  The  master  was  enshrined  on  the  east  side 
of  the  room,  and,  regular  as  the  sun,  he  was  in  his  seat 
at  nine  o'clock,  and  the  performances  of  the  school 
began. 

According  to  the  Catechism,  which  we  learned  and 
recited  on  Saturday,  the  chief  end  of  man  was  to  glorify 
God  and  keep  His  commandments;  according  to  the 
routine  of  this  school,  one  would  have  thought  it  to  be 
reading,  writing,  and  arithmetic,  to  which  we  may  add 
spelling.  From  morning  to  night,  in  all  weathers, 
through  every  season  of  the  year,  these  exercises  were 
carried  on  with  the  energy,  patience,  and  perseverance 
of  a  manufactory. 

Master  Stebbins  respected  his  calling :  his  heart  was 


OWNSTORY.  67 

in  his  work;  and  so,  what  he  pretended  to  teach,  he 
taught  well.  When  I  entered  the  school,  I  found  that  a 
huge  stride  had  been  achieved  in  the  march  of  mind 
since  I  left  West  Lane.  Webster's  Spelling-book  had 
taken  the  place  of  Dilworth,  which  was  a  great  im 
provement.  The  drill  in  spelling  was  very  thorough, 
and  applied  every  day  to  the  whole  school.  I  imagine 
that  the  exercises  might  have  been  amusing  to  a  stranger, 
especially  as  one  scholar  would  sometimes  go  off  in  a 
voice  as  grum  as  that  of  a  bull-frog,  while  another  would 
follow  in  tones  as  fine  and  piping  as  those  of  a  peet-weet. 
The  blunders,  too,  were  often  very  ludicrous ;  even  we 
children  would  sometimes  have  tittered,  had  not  such  an 
enormity  been  certain  to  have  brought  out  the  birch. 
As  to  rewards  and  punishments,  the  system  was  this : 
whoever  missed,  went  down  ;  so  that  perfection  mounted 
to  the  top.  Here  was  the  beginning  of  the  up  and  down 
of  life. 

Reading  was  performed  in  classes,  which  generally 
plodded  on  without  a  hint  from  the  master.  Neverthe 
less,  when  Zeek  Sanford — who  was  said  to  have  "a  streak 
of  lightning  in  him" — in  his  haste  to  be  smart,  read  the 
37th  verse  of  the  2nd  chapter  of  the  Acts, — "  Now  when 
they  heard  this,  they  were  pickled  in  their  heart," — the 
birch  stick  on  Master  Stebbins's  table  seemed  to  quiver 
and  peel  at  the  little  end,  as  if  to  give  warning  of  the 
wrath  to  come.  When  Orry  Keeler — Orry  was  a  girl, 
you  know,  and  not  a  boy— drawled  out  in  spelling, 
"  k — o — n,  Icon,  s — h — u — n — t — s,  shunts,  konshunts," 
the  bristles  in  the  master's  eyebrows  fidgeted  like  Aunt 
Delight's  knitting-needles.  Occasionally,  when  the  read 
ing  was  insupportably  bad,  he  took  a  book,  and  himself 
read  as  an  example. 


68  PETER      PARLEY'S 

Master  Stebbins  was  a  great  man  with  a  slate  and  pen 
cil,  and  I  have  an  idea  that  we  were  a  generation  after 
his  own  heart.  We  certainly  achieved  wonders  in  arith 
metic,  according  to  our  own  conceptions,  some  of  us 
going  even  beyond  the  Rule  of  Three,  and  making  forays 
into  the  mysterious  regions  of  Vulgar  Fractions. 

But,  after  all,  penmanship  was  Master  Stebbins's  great 
accomplishment.  He  had  no  pompous  lessons  upon  sin 
gle  lines  and  bifid  lines,  and  the  like.  The  revelations 
of  inspired  copy-book  makers  had  not  then  been  vouch 
safed  to  man.  He  could  not  cut  an  American  eagle  with 
a  single  flourish  of  a  goose-quill.  He  was  guided  by 
good  taste  and  native  instinct,  and  wrote  a  smooth  round 
hand,  like  copper-plate.  His  lessons  from  A  to  &,  all 
written  by  himself,  consisted  of  pithy  proverbs  and  useful 
moral  lessons.  On  every  page  of  our  writing-books  he 
wrote  the  first  line  himself.  The  effect  was  what  might 
have  been  expected — with  such  models,  patiently  en 
forced,  nearly  all  became  good  writers. 

Beyond  these  simple  elements,  the  Up-town  school 
made  few  pretensions.  When  I  was  there,  two  Web 
ster's  Grammars  and  one  or  two  Dwight's  Geographies 
were  in  use.  The  latter  was  without  maps  or  illustra 
tions,  and  was,  in  fact,  little  more  than  an  expanded  table 
of  contents,  taken  from  Morse's  Universal  Geography — 
the  mammoth  monument  of  American  learning  and 
genius  of  that  age  and  generation.  The  grammar  was  a 
clever  book,  but  I  have  an  idea  that  neither  Master  Steb 
bins  nor  his  pupils  ever  fathomed  its  depths.  They 
floundered  about  in  it,  as  if  in  a  quagmire,  and  after  some 
time  came  out  pretty  nearly  where  they  went  in,  though 
perhaps  a  little  confused  by  the  din  and  dusky  atmos 
phere  of  these  labyrinths. 


OWNSTOBY.  t>9 

Let  me  here  repeat  an  anecdote;  which  I  have  indeed 
told  before,  but  which  I  had  from  the  lips  of  its  hero,  a 
clergyman,  of  some  note  thirty  years  ago,  and  which 
well  illustrates  this  part  of  my  story.  At  a  village  school, 
not  many  miles  from  Ridgefield,  he  was  put  into  Web 
ster's  Grammar.  Here  he  read,  "  A  noun  is  the  name  of 
a  thing — as  horse,  hair,  justice?  Now,  in  his  innocence, 
he  read  it  thus  :  "  A  noun  is  the  name  of  a  thing — as 
horse-hair  justice" 

"  What,  then,"  said  he,  ruminating  deeply,  "  is  a 
noun  ?  But  first  I  must  find  out  what  a  horse-hair  jus 
tice  is." 

Upon  this  he  meditated  for  some  days,  but  still'he  was 
as  far  as  ever  from  the  solution.  Now,  his  father  was  a 
man  of  authority  in  those  parts,  and,  moreover,  he  was  a 
justice  of  the  peace.  Withal,  he  was  of  respectable  an 
cestry,  and  so  there  had  descended  to  him  a  stately  high- 
backed  settee,  covered  with  horse-hair.  One  day,  as  the 
youth  came  from  school,  pondering  upon  the  great  gram 
matical  problem,  he  entered  the  front  door  of  the  house, 
and  there  he  saw  before  him  his  father,  officiating  in  his 
legal  capacity,  and  seated  upon  the  old  horse-hair  settee. 
"  I  have  found  it !"  said  the  boy  to  himself,  greatly  de 
lighted — "  my  father  is  a  horse-hair  justice,  and  there 
fore  a  noun  !" 

Nevertheless,  it  must  be  admitted  that  the  world  got 
on  remarkably  well  in  spite  of  this  narrowness  of  the 
country  schools.  The  elements  of  an  English  education 
were  pretty  well  taught  throughout  the  village  seminaries 
of  Connecticut,  and,  I  may  add,  of  New  England.  The 
teachers  were  heartily  devoted  to  their  profession :  they 
respected  their  calling,  and  were  respected  and  encour 
aged  by  the  community.  They  had  this  merit,  that 


70  PETER     PARLEY'S 

while  they  attempted  little,  that,  at  least,  was  thoroughly 
performed. 

I  went  steadily  to  the  Tip-town  school  for  three  win 
ters  ;  being  occupied  during  the  summers  upon  the  farm, 
and  in  various  minor  duties.  I  was  a  great  deal  on 
horseback,  often  carrying  messages  to  the  neighboring 
towns  of  Reading,  Wilton,  Weston,  and  Lower  Salem, 
for  then  the  post  routes  were  few,  and  the  mails,  which 
were  weekly,  crept  like  snails  over  hill  and  valley.  I  be 
came  a  bold  rider  at  an  early  age :  before  I  was  eight 
years  old  I  frequently  ventured  to  put  a  horse  to  his 
speed,  and  that,  too,  without  a  saddle.  A  person  who 
has  never  tried  it,  can  hardly  conceive  the  wild  delight 
of  riding  a  swift  horse,  when  he  lays  down  his  ears,  tosses 
his  tail  in  air,  and  stretches  himself  out  in  a  full  race. 
The  intense  energy  of  the  beast's  movements,  the  rush  of 
the  air,  the  swimming  backward  of  lands,  houses,  and 
trees,  with  the  clattering  thunder  of  the  hoofs — all  con 
vey  to  the  rider  a  fierce  ecstasy,  which,  perhaps,  nothing 
else  can  give.  About  this  period,  however,  I  received  a 
lesson,  which  lasted  me  a  lifetime. 

You  must  know  that  Deacon  Benedict,  one  of  our 
neighbors,  had  a  fellow  living  with  him  named  Abijah. 
He  was  an  adventurous  youth,  and  more  than  once  led 
me  into  tribulation.  I  remember  that  on  one  occasion  I 
went  with  him  to  shoot  a  dog  that  was  said  to  worry  the 
deacon's  sheep.  It  was  night,  and  dark  as  Egypt,  but 
Bige  said  he  could  see  the  creature  close  to  the  cow 
house,  behind  the  barn.  He  banged  away,  and  then 
jumped  over  the  fence,  to  pick  up  the  game.  After  a 
time  he  came  back,  but  said  not  a  word.  Next  morning 
it  was  found  that  he  had  shot  the  brindled  cow  ;  mistak 
ing  a  white  spot  in  her  forehead  for  the  dog,  he  had 


OWN      STORY.  71 

taken  a  deadly  aim,  and  put  the  whole  charge  into  her 
pate.  Fortunately  her  skull  was  thick  and  the  shot 
small,  so  the  honest  creature  was  only  a  little  cracked. 
Bige,  however,  was  terribly  scolded-  by  the  deacon,  who 
was  a  justice  of  the  peace,  and  had  a  deep  sense  of  the 
importance  of  his  duties.  I  came  in  for  a  share  of 
blame,  though  I  was  only  a  looker-on.  Bige  said  the 
deacon  called  me  a  "  parsnip  scrimmage,"  but  more  prob 
ably  it  was  a  particeps  criminis. 

But  to  proceed.  One  day  I  was  taking  home  from  the 
pasture  a  horse  that  belonged  to  some  clergyman — I 
believe  Dr.  Ripley,  of  Greensfarms.  Just  as  I  came  upon 
the  level  ground  in  front  of  Jerry  Mead's  old  house, 
Bige  came  up  behind  me  on  the  deacon's  mare — an 
ambling  brute  with  a  bushy  tail  and  shaggy  mane.  As 
he  approached  he  gave  a  chirrup,  and  my  horse,  half  in 
fright  and  half  in  fun,  bounded  away,  like  Tarn 
O'Shanter's  mare.  Away  we  went,  I  holding  on  as  well 
as  I  could,  for  the  animal  was  round  as  a  barrel.  He 
was  no  doubt  used  to  a  frolic  of  this  sort,  although  he 
belonged  to  a  doctor  of  divinity,  and  looked  as  if  he  be 
lieved  in  total  depravity.  When  he  finally  broke  into  a 
gallop  he  flew  like  the  wind,  at  the  same  time  bounding 
up  and  down  with  a  tearing  energy,  quite  frightful  to 
think  of.  After  a  short  race  he  went  from  under  me,  and 
I  came  with  a  terrible  shock  to  the  ground. 

The  breath  was  knocked  out  of  me  for  some  seconds, 
and  as  I  recovered  it  with  a  gasping  effort,  my  sensations 
were  indescribably  agonizing.  Greatly  humbled  and 
sorely  bruised,  I  managed  to  get  home,  where  the  story 
of  my  adventure  had  preceded  me.  I  was  severely 
lectured  by  my  parents,  which,  however,  I  might  have 
forgotten,  had  not  the  concussion  made  an  indelible  im- 


72  PETER     PARLEY     8 

pression  on  my  memory,  thus  perpetuating  the  whole 
some  counsel. 

When  I  was  about  twelve  years  old,  a  man  by  the 
name  of  Sackett  was  employed  to  keep  a  high-school,  or, 
as  it  was  then  called,  an  academy.  Here  I  went  irregu 
larly  for  a  few  weeks,  and  at  a  public  exhibition  I  remem 
ber  to  have  spoken  a  piece,  upon  a  stage  fitted  up  in  the 
meeting-house,  entitled  "  Charles  Chatterbox."  This  was 
the  substance  of  my  achievements  at  Sackett's  seminary. 

The  narrowness  of  my  father's  income,  and  the  needs 
of  a  large  family,  induced  him  to  take  half-a-dozen  pupils 
to  be  fitted  for  college.  This  he  continued  for  a  series  of 
years.  It  might  seem  natural  that  I  should  have  shared 
in  these  advantages  ;  but,  in  the  first  place,  my  only  and 
elder  brother,  Charles  A.  Goodrich — now  widely  known 
by  his  numerous  useful  publications — had  been  destined 
for  the  clerical  profession,  partly  by  his  own  predilection, 
partly  by  encouragement  from  a  relative,  and  partly,  too, 
from  an  idea  that  his  somewhat  delicate  constitution  for 
bade  a  more  hardy  career.  To  this  may  doubtless  be 
added  the  natural  desire  of  his  parents  that  at  least  one 
of  their  sons  should  follow  the  honored  calling  to  which 
father,  grandfather,  and  great-grandfather  had  been 
devoted.  Hence  he  was  put  in  training  for  college.  The 
expenses  to  be  thus  incurred  were  formidable  enough  to 
my  parents,  without  adding  to  them  by  attempting  any 
thing  of  the  kind  for  me.  And,  besides,  I  had  manifest 
ed  no  love  of  study,  and  evidently  preferred  action  to 
books.  Moreover,  it  must  be  remembered,  that  I  was 
regarded  as  a  born  carpenter,  and  it  would  have  seemed 
tempting  Providence  to  have  set  me  upon  any  other 
career.  So,  with  perfect  content  on  my  part,  from  the 
age  of  twelve  to  fourteen,  I  was  chiefly  employed  in 


OWN     STORY.  73 

active  services  about  the  house  and  farm.  I  could  read, 
write,  and  cipher ;  this  was  sufficient  for  my  ambition, 
and  satisfactory  to  my  parents,  in  view  of  the  life  to 
which  I  was  apparently  destined. 

Nevertheless,  though  my  school  exercises  were  such  as 
I  have  described,  I  doubtless  gathered  some  little  odds 
and  ends  of  learning  about  those  days,  beyond  the  range 
of  my  horn-books.  I  heard  a  good  deal  of  conversation 
from  the  clergymen  who  visited  us,  and,  above  all,  I 
listened  to  the  long  discourses  of  Lieutenant  Smith  upon 
matters  and  things  in  general.  My  father,  too,  had  a 
brother  in  Congress,  from  whom  he  received  letters, 
documents,  and  messages,  all  of  which  became  subjects 
of  discussion.  I  remember,  further,  that  out  of  some 
childish  imitation,  I  thumbed  over  Corderius  and  Eras 
mus — the  first  Latin  books,  then  constantly  in  the  hands 
of  my  father's  pupils.  I  was  so  accustomed  to  hear  them 
recite  their  lessons  in  Virgil,  that 

Tityre,  tu  patulce  recubans  sub  tegmine  fagi — 
and 

Arma,  arms — virumque,  and  the  man — cano,  I  sing, 

were  as  familiar  to  my  ears  as  hillery,  tillery,  zachery  zan, 
and  probably  conveyed  to  my  mind  about  as  much  mean 
ing.  Even  the  first  lesson  in  Greek — 

Ev,  in — dpxy,  the  beginning — rjv  was — o  Aoyof,  the  "Word — 

was  also  among  the  cabalistic  jingles  in  my  memory.  All 
this  may  seem  nothing  as  a  matter  of  education ;  still, 
some  years  after,  while  I  was  an  apprentice  in  Hartford, 
feeling  painfully  impressed  with  the  scantiness  of  my 
knowledge,  I  borrowed  some  Latin  school-books,  under 


4  PRTER     PARLEY'S 

the  idea  of  attempting  to  master  that  language.  To  my 
delight  and  surprise,  I  found  that  they  seemed  familiar 
to  me.  Thus  encouraged,  I  began,  and  bending  steadily 
over  my  task  at  evening,  when  my  day's  duties  were 
over,  I  made  my  way  nearly  through  the  Latin  Grammar 
and  the  first  two  books  of  Virgil's  ^Eneid.  In  my 
poverty  of  knowledge,  even  these  acquisitions  became 
useful  to  me. 

From  the  age  of  twelve  to  fifteen,  though  generally 
occupied  in  the  various  tasks  assigned  me,  I  still  found  a 
good  deal  of  time  to  ramble  over  the  country.  Whole 
days  I  spent  in  the  long,  lonesome  lanes  that  wound  be 
tween  Ridgefield  and  Salem,  in  the  half-cultivated,  half- 
wooded  hills  that  lay  at  the  foot  of  West  Mountain,  and 
in  the  deep  recesses  of  the  wild  and  rugged  regions  be 
yond.  I  frequently  climbed  to  the  tops  of  the  cliffs  and 
ridges  that  rose  one  above  another  ;  and  having  gained 
the  crown  of  the  mountain,  cast  long  and  wistful  glances 
over  the  blue  vale  that  stretched  out  for  many  miles  to 
the  westward.  I  had  always  my  gun  in  hand,  and 
though  not  insensible  to  any  sport  that  might  fall  in  my 
way,  I  was  more  absorbed  in  the  fancies  that  came 
thronging  to  my  imagination.  Thus  I  became  familiar 
with  the  whole  country  around,  and  especially  with  the 
shaded  glens  and  gorges  of  West  Mountain.  I  must  add 
that  these  had,  besides  their  native,  savage  charms,  a 
sort  of  fascination  from  being  the  residence  of  a  strange 
woman,  who  had  devoted  herself  to  solitude,  and  was 
known  under  the  name  of  "  the  Hermitess."  This  per 
sonage  I  had  occasionally  seen  in  our  village ;  and  I 
frequently  met  her  as  she  glided  through  the  foists, 
while  I  was  pursuing  my  mountain  rambles.  I  some 
times  felt  a  strange  thrill  as  she  passed;  but  this  only 


OWN     STORY.  75 

seemed  to  render  the  recesses  where  she  dwelt  still  more 
inviting. 

I  have  no  doubt  that  I  inherited  from  my  mother  a 
love  of  the  night  side  of  nature ;  not  a  love  that  begets 
melancholy,  but  an  appetite  that  found  pleasure  in  the 
shadows,  as  well  as  the  lights,  of  life  and  imagination. 
Eminently  practical  as  she  was — laborious,  skilful,  and 
successful  in  the  duties  which  Providence  had  assigned 
her,  as  the  head  of  a  large  family,  with  narrow  means — 
she  was  still  of  a  poetic  temperament.  Her  lively  fancy 
was  vividly  set  forth  by  a  pair  of  the  finest  eyes  I  have 
ever  seen ;  dark  and  serious,  yet  tender  and  sentimental. 
These  bespoke,  not  only  the  vigor  of  her  conceptions, 
but  the  melancholy  tinge  that  shaded  her  imagination. 
Sometimes,  indeed,  the  well  of  sadness  in  her  heart  be 
came  full,  and  it  ran  over  in  tears.  These,  however, 
were  like  spring  showers ;  brief  in  duration,  and  after 
wards  brightening  to  all  around.  She  was  not  the  only 
woman  who  has  felt  better  after  a  good  cry.  It  was,  in 
fact,  a  poetic,  not  a  real  sorrow,  that  thus  excited  her 
emotions ;  for  her  prevailing  humor  abounded  in  wit  and 
vivacity,  not  unfrequently  taking  the  hue  of  playful 
satire.  Nevertheless,  her  taste  craved  the  pathetic,  the 
mournful ;  not  as  a  bitter  medicine,  but  a  spicy  condi 
ment.  Her  favorite  poets  were  King  David  and  Dr. 
Watts  :  she  preferred  the  dirge-like  melody  of  Windham 
to  all  other  music.  All  the  songs  she  sang  were  minors. 

You  will  gather,  from  what  I  have  said,  that  my  father 
not  only  prayed  in  his  family  night  and  morning,  but  be 
fore  breakfast,  and  immediately  after  the  household  was 
assembled  he  always  read  a  chapter  in  the  sacred  volume. 
It  is  recorded  in  our  family  Bible,  that  he  read  it 
through,  in  course,  thirteen  times  in  the  space  of  about 


76  PETEE     PARLEY'S 

five-and-twenty  years.  He  was  an  excellent  reader,  hav 
ing  a  remarkably  clear,  frank,  hearty  voice ;  so  that  I 
was  deeply  interested,  and  thus  early  became  familiar 
with  almost  every  portion  of  the  Old  and  New  Testa 
ment. 

The  practice  of  family  worship,  as  I  before  stated,  was 
at  this  time  very  general  in  New  England.  In  Ridgefield, 
it  was  not  altogether  confined  to  the  strictly  religious ; 
to  clergymen,  deacons,  and  church  members.  It  was  a 
custom  which  decency  hardly  allowed  to  be  omitted. 
No  family  was  thought  to  go  on  well  without  it.  There 
is  a  good  story  which  well  describes  this  trait  of  man 
ners. 

Somewhere  in  Vermont,  in  this  golden  age,  there  was 
a  widow  by  the  name  of  Bennett.  In  consequence  of 
the  death  of  her  husband,  the  charge  of  a  large  farm 
and  an  ample  household  devolved  upon  her.  Her  hus 
band  had  been  a  pious  man,  and  all  things  had  prospered 
with  him.  His  widow,  alike  from  religious  feeling  and 
affectionate  regard  for  his  memory,  desired  that  every 
thing  should  be  conducted  as  much  as  possible  as  it  had 
been  during  his  lifetime.  Especially  did  she  wish  the 
day  to  begin  and  close  with  family  worship. 

Now,  she  had  a  foreman  on  the  farm  by  the  name  of 
Ward.  He  was  a  good  man  for  work,  but  he  was  not  a 
religious  man.  In  vain  did  the  widow,  in  admitting  his 
merits  at  the  plough,  the  scythe,  and  the  flail,  still  urge 
him  to  crown  her  wishes,  by  leading  in  family  prayer. 
For  a  long  time  the  heart  of  the  man  was  hard,  and  his 
ear  deaf  to  her  entreaties.  At  last,  however,  wearied 
with  her  importunities,  he  seemed  to  change,  and,  to  her 
great  joy,  consented  to  make  a  trial. 

On  a  bright  morning  in  June — at  early  sunrise — the 


OWNSTORT.  77 

family  were  all  assembled  in  the  parlor,  men  and 
maidens,  for  their  devotions.  When  all  was  ready, 
Ward,  in  a  low,  troubled  voice,  began.  He  had  never 
prayed,  or  at  least  not  in  public,  but  he  had  heard  many 
prayers,  and  possessed  a  retentive  memory.  After  get 
ting  over  the  first  hesitancy,  he  soon  became  fluent,  and 
taking  passages  here  and  there  from  the  various  petitions 
he  had  heard — Presbyterian,  Methodist,  Universalist, 
and  Episcopalian — he  went  on  with  great  eloquence, 
gradually  elevating  his  tone  and  accelerating  his  delivery. 
Ere  long  his  voice  grew  portentous,  and  some  of  the 
men  and  maids,  thinking  he  was  suddenly  taken  either 
mad  or  inspired,  stole  out  on  their  toes  into  the  kitchen, 
where,  with  gaping  mouths,  they  awaited  the  result. 
The  Widow  Bennett  bore  it  all  for  about  half  an  hour ; 
but  at  last,  as  the  precious  time  was  passing  away,  she 
lost  patience,  and  sprang  to  her  feet.  Placing  herself 
directly  in  front  of  the  speaker,  she  exclaimed,  "  Ward, 
what  do  you  mean  ?" 

As  if  suddenly  relieved  from  a  nightmare,  he  ex 
claimed,  "  Oh  dear,  ma'am,  I'm  much  obliged  to  you ; 
for  somehow  I  couldn't  wind  the  thing  off." 

I  must  not  pass  over  another  incident  having  reference 
to  the  topic  in  question.  Under  the  biblical  influence 
of  those  days  my  father's  scholars  built  a  temple  of  the 
Philistines,  and  when  it  was  completed  within  and  with 
out,  all  the  children  round  about  assembled,  as  did  the 
Gazaites  of  old.  The  edifice  was  chiefly  of  boards,  slen 
derly  constructed,  and  reached  the  height  of  twelve  feet ; 
nevertheless,  all  of  us  got  upon  it,  according  to  the  16th 
chapter  of  Judges.  The  oldest  of  the  scholars  played 
Samson.  When  all  was  ready,  he  took  hold  of  the  pil 
lars  of  the  temple,  one  with  his  right  hand  and  one  with 


78  PETER      PARLEY'S      OWN      STORY. 

his  left.  "  Let  me  die  with  the  Philistines !"  said  he, 
and  bowing  himself,  down  we  came  in  a  heap  !  Strange 
to  say,  nobody  but  Samson  was  hurt,  and  he  only  in 
some  skin  bruises.  If  you  could  see  him  now — dignified 
even  to  solemnity,  and  seldom  condescending  to  any  but 
the  gravest  matters — you  would  scarcely  believe  the 
story,  even  though  I  write  it  and  verify  it.  Neverthe 
less,  if  he  must  have  played,  he  should  have  taken  the 
part  of  Samson,  for  he  is  one  of  the  most  gifted  men  I 
have  ever  known. 


CHAPTEE   VII. 

THE   CLERGY  OP  FAIEFIELD— A   LAUGIIIXG   PARSON — TUB  THREE   DEACOHS. 

BEFORE  I  complete  my  narrative  so  far  as  it  relates  to 
Ridgefield,  I  should  state  that  in  the  olden  time  a  country 
minister's  home  was  a  ministers'  tavern,  and  therefore  I 
saw  at  our  house,  at  different  periods,  most  of  the 
orthodox  or  Congregational  clergymen  belonging  to  that 
part  of  the  State.  My  father  frequently  exchanged  with 
those  of  the  neighboring  towns,  and  sometimes  consocia 
tions  and  associations  were  held  at  Ridgefield.  Thus, 
men  of  the  clerical  profession  constituted  a  large  portion 
of  the  strangers  who  visited  us.  I  may  add  that  my 
lineage  was  highly  ministerial,  from  an  early  period  down 
to  my  own  time.  The  pulpit  of  Durham,  filled  by  my 
paternal  grandfather,  continued  in  the  same  family  one 
hundred  and  twenty-six  consecutive  years.  A  short  time 
since  we  reckoned  among  our  relations,  not  going  beyond 
the  degree  of  second  cousin,  more  than  a  dozen  ministers 
of  the  Gospel,  and  all  of  the  same  creed. 

As  to  the  clergy  of  Fairfield  county,  my  boyish  im 
pressions  of  them  were,  that  they  were  of  the  salt  of  the 
earth ;  nor  has  a  larger  experience  altered  my  opinion. 
If  I  sometimes  indulge  a  smile  at  the  recollection  of 
particular  traits  of  character,  or  more  general  points  ot 


80  PETER     PARLEY'S 

manner  significant  of  the  age,  I  still  regard  them  with 
affection  and  reverence. 

I  need  not  tell  you  that  they  were  counsellors  in  re 
ligious  matters,  in  the  dark  and  anxious  periods  of  the 
spirit,  in  times  of  sickness,  at  the  approach  of  death. 
They  sanctified  the  wedding,  not  refusing  afterward  to 
countenance  the  festivity  which  naturally  ensued.  They* 
administered  baptism,  but  only  upon  adults  who  made  a 
profession,  or  upon  the  children  of  professors.  I  may 
add  that,  despite  their  divinity,  they  were  sociable  in  their 
manners  and  intercourse.  The  state  of  the  Church  was 
no  doubt  first  in  their  minds,  but  ample  room  was  left 
for  the  good  things  of  life.  Those  who  came  to  our 
house  examined  my  brother  in  his  Greek  and  Latin,  and 
I  went  out  behind  the  barn  to  gather  tansy  for  their 
morning  bitters.  They  dearly  loved  a  joke,  and  relished 
anecdotes,  especially  if  they  bore  a  little  hard  upon  the 
cloth.  The  following  will  suffice  as  a  specimen  of  the 
stories  they  delighted  in. 

Once  upon  a  time  there  was  a  clergyman — the  Rev. 

Dr.  T ,  a  man  of  high  character,  and  distinguished 

for  his  dignity  of  manner.  But  it  was  remarked  that 
frequently  as  he  was  ascending  the  pulpit  stairs  he  would 
smile,  and  sometimes  almost  titter,  as  if  beset  by  an  un 
controllable  desire  to  laugh.  This  excited  remark,  and 
at  last  scandal.  Finally,  it  was  thought  necessary  for 
some  of  his  clerical  friends,  at  a  meeting  of  the  As 
sociation,  to  bring  up  the  matter  for  consideration. 

The  case  was  stated,  the  Rev.  Dr.  T being  present. 

"  Well,  gentlemen,"  said  he,  "  the  fact  charged  against 
me  is  true,  but  I  beg  you  to  permit  me  to  offer  an  explana 
tion.  A  few  months  after  I  was  licensed  to  preach  I  was 
in  a  country  town,  and  on  a  Sabbath  morning  was  about 


OWN     STORY.  81 

to  enter  upon  the  services  of  the  church.  At  the  back 
of  the  pulpit  was  a  window,  which  looked  out  upon  a 
field  of  clover,  then  in  full  bloom,  for  it  was  summer. 
As  I  rose  to  commence  the  reading  of  the  Scriptures,  I 
cast  a  glance  into  the  field,  and  there  I  saw  a  man  per 
forming  the  most  extraordinary  evolutions — jumping, 
whirling,  slapping  in  all  directions,  and  with  a  ferocious 
agony  of  exertion.  At  first  I  thought  he  was  mad ;  but 
suddenly  the  truth  burst  upon  me — he  had  buttoned  up 
a  bumblebee  in  his  pantaloons  !  I  am  constitutionally 
nervous,  gentlemen,  and  the  shock  of  this  scene  upon  my 
risible  sensibilities  was  so  great,  that  I  could  hardly  get 
through  the  services.  Several  times  I  was  upon  the  point 
of  bursting  into  a  laugh.  Even  to  this  day,  the  remem 
brance  of  this  scene,  through  the  temptation  of  the  devil, 
often  comes  upon  me  as  I  am  ascending  the  pulpit. 
This,  I  admit,  is  a  weakness,  but  I  trust  it  will  rather 
excite  your  sympathy  and  your  prayers  than  your  re 
proaches." 

It  may  be  amusing,  perhaps  profitable,  to  give  here  a 
few  sketches  of  the  remarkable  characters  of  Ridgefield, 
at  the  opening  of  the  present  century.  Some  were  types 
of  their  time ;  others,  however  eccentric,  were  exemplifi 
cations  of  our  race  and  our  society,  influenced  by  peculiar 
circumstances,  and  showing  into  what  fashions  this  stuff 
of  humanity  may  be  wrought.  They  are  still  prominent 
in  my  recollection,  and  seem  to  me  an  essential  part  ol 
the  social  landscape  which  encircled  my  youth. 

I  begin  with  the  three  deacons  of  my  father's  parish. 
First  was  Deacon  Olmstead,  full  threescore  years  and  ten 
at  the  opening  of  the  present  century.  His  infancy 
touched  upon  the  verge  of  Puritanism — the  days  of  In 
crease  and  Cotton  Mather.  The  spirit  of  the  Puritans 


82  PETEBPARLEY'S 

lived  in  his  heart,  while  the  semblance  of  the  patriarchs 
lingered  in  his  form.  He  was  fully  six  feet  high,  with 
broad  shoulders,  powerful  limbs,  and  the  august  step  of  a 
giant.  His  hair  was  white,  and  rolled  in  thin  curls  upon 
his  shoulders ;  he  was  still  erect,  though  he  carried  a 
long  cane,  like  that  of  father  Abraham  in  the  old 
pictures,  representing  him  at  the  head  of  his  kindred  and 
his  camels,  going  from  the  land  of  Haran  to  the  land  of 
Canaan.  Indeed,  he  was  my  personification  of  the  great 
progenitor  of  the  Hebrews ;  and  when  my  father  read 
from  the  twelfth  chapter  of  Genesis,  how  he  and  Lot  and 
their  kindred  journeyed  forth,  I  half  fancied  it  must  be 
Deacon  Olmstead  under  another  name. 

Deacon  Olmstead  was  in  all  things  a  noble  specimen 
of  humanity — an  honor  to  human  nature,  a  shining  light 
in  the  church.  I  have  spoken  of  him  as  having  some1- 
thing  grand  about  him,  yet  I  remember  how  kindly  he 
condescended  to  take  me,  a  child,  on  his  knee,  and  how 
gently  his  great  brawny  fingers  encircled  my  infant  hand. 
I  have  said  he  was  wise  ;  yet  his  book-learning  was  small, 
though  it  might  have  been  as  great  as  that  of  Abraham, 
or  Isaac,  or  Jacob.  He  knew,  indeed,  the  Bible  by  heart, 
and  that  is  a  great  teacher.  He  had  also  lived  long,  and 
profited  by  observation  and  experience.  Above  all,  he 
was  calm,  just,  sincere,  and  it  is  wonderful  how  these 
lamps  light  up  the  path  of  life.  I  have  said  he  was 
proud,  yet  it  was  only  toward  the  seductions  of  the 
world  :  to  these  he  was  hard  and  stern :  to  his  God  he 
was  simple,  obedient,  and  docile  as  a  child  :  toward  his 
kindred  and  his  neighbor,  toward  the  poor,  toward  the 
suffering,  though  not  so  soft,  he  was  sympathetic  as  a 
sister  of  charity. 

I  must  now  present  a  somewhat  different  portrait — 


!)KA(JOX    U1.MSTEA1). 


J'.  74. 


OWN     STORY.  83 

that  of  Deacon  John  Benedict.  He  was  a  worthy  old 
man,  and  enjoyed  many  claims  to  respect.  He  was  not 
only  a  deacon,  but  a  justice  of  the  peace;  moreover,  he 
was  the  father  of  Aunt  Delight,  of  whom  I  desire  ever 
to  speak  with  reverence.  She,  not  being  a  beauty,  was 
never  married,  and  hence,  having  no  children  of  her 
own,  she  combed  and  crammed  the  heads  of  other  peo 
ple's  children.  In  this  way  she  was  eminently  useful  in 
her  day  and  generation.  The  Deacon  respected  the  law, 
especially  as  it  was  administered  in  his  own  person.  He 
was  severe  upon  those  who  violated  the  statutes  of  the 
State,  but  one  who  violated  the  statutes  of  Deacon  John 
Benedict  committed  the  unpardonable  sin.  He  was  the 
entire  police  of  the  meeting-house  on  Sunday,  and  not  a 
boy  or  girl,  or  eren  a  bumblebee,  could  ofiend  without 
condign  punishment. 

Nevertheless,  the  Deacon  is  said,  in  one  case — rather 
before  my  time — to  have  met  his  match.  There  was  in 
the  village  a  small,  smart,  nervous  woman,  with  a  vigor 
ous  clack,  which,  once  set  going,  was  hard  to  stop.  One 
day  she  was  at  church,  and  having  carried  her  dinner  of 
mince-pie  in  a  little  cross-handled  basket,  she  set  it  down 
under  the  seat.  In  the  midst  of  sermon-time  a  small 
dog  came  into  the  pew,  and  getting  behind  her  petti 
coats,  began  to  devour  the  pie.  She  heard  what  was 
going  on,  and  gave  him  a  kick.  Upon  this  the  dog 
backed  out  with  a  yelp,  taking  with  him  the  dinner- 
basket,  hung  about  his  neck,  across  the  pew  into  the 
broad  aisle. 

"  Oh  dear  !"  said  the  woman,  in  a  shrill  voice,  "  the 
dog's  got  my  dinner !  There !  I've  spoken  loud  in 
meeting-time !  What  will  Deacon  Benedict  say  ?  Why ! 


84  PETER     PARLEY-' 8 

I'm  talking  all  the  time.  There  it  goes  agin !  What 
shall  I  du «" 

"  Hold  your  tongue !"  said  the  Deacon,  who  was  in 
his  official  seat,  fronting  the  explosion.  These  words 
operated  like  a  charm,  and  the  nervous  lady  was  silent. 
The  next  day  Deacon  John  appeared  at  the  house  of  the 
offender,  carrying  a  calf-bound  volume  in  his  hand.  The 
woman  gave  one  glance  at  the  book,  and  one  at  the 
Deacon.  That  was  enough  :  it  spoke  volumes,  and  the 
man  of  the  law  returned  home,  and  never  mentioned  the 
subject  afterward. 

Deacon  Hawley  was  very  unlike  either  of  his  two  asso 
ciates  whom  I  have-  described.  He  was  younger,  and  of 
a  peculiarly  mild  and  amiable  temper.  His  countenance 
wore  a  tranquil  and  smooth  expression.  His  hair  was 
fine  and  silky,  and  lay,  as  if  oiled,  close  to  his  head.  He 
had  a  soft  voice,  and  an  ear  for  music.  He  was  a  cabinet 
maker  by  trade,  a  chorister  by  choice,  and  a  deacon  by 
the  vote  of  the  church.  In  each  of  these  things  he  found 
his  place,  as  if  designed  for  it  by  nature. 

In  worldly  affairs  as  well  as  spiritual,  Deacon  Hawley's 
path  was  straight  and  even  :  he  was  successful  in  busi 
ness,  beloved  in  society,  honored  in  the  church.  Exceed 
ingly  frugal  by  habit  and  disposition,  he  still  loved  to 
give  in  charity,  though  he  did  not  talk  of  it.  When  he 
was  old,  his  family  being  well  provided  for,  he  spent 
much  of  his  time  in  casting  about  to  find  opportunities 
of  doing  good.  Once  he  learned  that  a  widow,  who  had 
been  in  good  circumstances,  was  struggling  with  poverty. 
He  was  afraid  to  offer  money  as  charity,  for  fear  of 
wounding  her  pride — the  more  sensitive,  perhaps,  be 
cause  of  her  change  of  condition.  He  therefore  inti- 


OWN      STORY.  85 

mated  that  he  owed  a  debt  of  fifty  dollars  to  her  late 
husband,  and  wished  to  pay  it  to  her. 

"  And  how  was  that  ? "  said  the  lady,  somewhat 
startled. 

"  I  will  tell  you,"  said  the  Deacon.  "  About  five-and- 
twenty  years  ago,  soon  after  you  were  married,  I  made 
some  furniture  for  your  husband — to  the  amount  of  two 
hundred  dollars.  I  have  been  looking  over  the  account, 
and  find  that  I  rather  overcharged  him  in  the  price  of 
some  chairs — that  is,  I  could  have  afforded  them  at 
somewhat  less.  I  have  added  up  the  interest,  and  here, 
madam,  is  the  money." 

The  widow  listened,  and  as  she  suspected  the  truth, 
the  tears  came  to  her  eyes.  The  Deacon  did  not 
pause  to  reply,  but  laid  the  money  on  the  table  and  de 
parted. 

The  term  deacon  is  associated  in  many  minds  with  a 
sort  of  affectation,  a  cant  in  conversation,  and  an  I-am- 
holier-than-thou  air  and  manner.  I  remember  Deacon 

C ,  who  deemed  it  proper  to  become  scriptural,  and 

talk  as  much  as  possible  like  Isaiah.  He  was  in  partner 
ship  with  his  son  Laertes,  and  they  sold  crockery  and 
furniture.  One  day  a  female  customer  came,  and  the  old 
gentleman  being  engaged,  went  to  call  his  son,  who  was 
in  the  loft  above.  Placing  himself  at  the  foot  of  the 
stairs,  he  said,  attuning  his  voice  to  the  occasion, 

"  La-ar-tes,  descend — a  lady  waits  !"  Deacon  C 

sought  to  signalize  himself  by  a  special  respect  to  the 
•ways  of  Providence  ;  so  he  refused  to  be  insured  against 
fire,  declaring  that  if  the  Lord  wished  to  burn  down  his 
house  or  his  barn  he  should  submit  without  a  murmur. 
He  pretended  to  consider  thunder,  and  lightning,  and 
conflagrations  as  special  acts  of  the  Almighty,  and  it  was 


86  PETER     PARLEY'S      OWN     STORY. 

distrusting  Providence  to  attempt  to  avert  their  effects. 
Deacon  Hawley  had  none  of  these  follies  or  frailties. 
Though  a  deacon,  he  was  still  a  man  ;  though  aspiring  to 
heaven,  he  lived  cheerily  on  earth ;  though  a  Chris 
tian,  he  was  a  father,  a  neighbor,  and,  according  to 
his  rank  in  life,  a  gentleman,  having  in  all  things  the 
feelings  and  manners  appropriate  to  each  of  those  rela 
tions. 


CHAPTEE   VIII. 

MAT  OLHSTEAD,  THE  TOWN  WIT — THE  SALAMANDER  HAT — BOLAB  EOLIMB— 
THE  OLD  HEN  AND  THE  PHILOSOPHER — LIEUTENANT  SMITH — EXTRAOB- 
DINARY  METEOB — FULTON  AND  HIS  STEAM-BOAT — GBANTHKE  BALDWIN 
AND  HIS  WIFE — SAKAH  BISHOP  AND  HEB  OAVB. 

ANOTHER  celebrity  in  Ridgefield,  whom  I  must  not 
forget,  was  Matthew  Olmstead,  or  Mat  Olmstead,  as  he 
was  usually  called ;  he  was  a  day  laborer,  and  though  his 
specialty  was  the  laying  of  stone  fences,  he  was  equally 
adroit  at  hoeing  corn,  mowing,  and  farm-work  in  general. 
He  was  rather  short  and  thick-set,  with  a  long  nose,  a 
little  bulbous  in  his  latter  days ;  with  a  ruddy  complex 
ion,  and  a  mouth  shutting  like  a  pair  of  nippers,  the  lips 
having  an  oblique  dip  to  the  left,  giving  a  keen  and  mis 
chievous  expression  to  his  face :  qualified,  however,  by 
more  of  mirth  than  malice.  This  feature  was  indicative 
of  his  mind  and  character;  for  he  was  sharp  in  speech, 
and  affected  a  crisp,  biting  brevity,  called  dry  wit.  He 
had  also  a  turn  for  practical  jokes,  and  a  great  many  of 
these  were  told  of  him  ;  to  which,  perhaps,  he  had  no 
historical  claim.  The  following  is  one  of  them,  and  is 
illustrative  of  his  manner,  even  if  it  originated  elsewhere. 

On  a  cold,  stormy  day  in  December,  a  man  chanced  to 
come  into  the  bar-room  of  Keeler's  tavern,  where  Mat 
Olmstead  and  several  of  his  companions  were  lounging. 
The  stranger  had  on  a  new  hat  of  the  latest  fashion,  and 


88  PETER     PARLEY'S 

still  sinning  with  the  gloss  of  the  iron.  He  seemed  con 
scious  of  his  dignity,  and  carried  his  head  in  such  a  man 
ner  as  to  invite  attention  to  it.  Mat's  knowing  eye 
immediately  detected  the  weakness  of  the  stranger  ;  so 
he  approached  him,  and  said, — 

"  What  a  very  nice  hat  you've  got  on !  Pray  who 
made  it  f " 

"  Oh,  it  came  from  New  York,"  was  the  reply. 

"  Well,  let  me  take  it,"  said  Mat. 

The  stranger  took  it  off  his  head,  gingerly,  and  handed 
it  to  him. 

"  It  is  a  wonderful  nice  hat,"  said  Matthew ;  "  and  I 
see  it's  a  real  salamander  !" 

"  Salamander  ?"  said  the  other.     "  What's  that  ?" 

"  Why,  a  real  salamander  hat  won't  burn  !" 

"  No  ?  I  never  heard  of  that  before  :  I  don't  believe 
it's  one  of  that  kind." 

"  Sartain  sure  ;  I'll  bet  you  a  mug  of  flip  of  it." 

"Well,  I'll  stand  you!"  . 

"  Done  :  now  I'll  just  put  it  under  the  fore-stick  ?" 

"  Well." 

It  being  thus  arranged,  Mat  put  the  hat  under  the 
fore-stick  into  a  glowing  mass  of  coals.  In  an  instant  it 
took  fire,  collapsed,  and  rolled  into  a  black,  crumpled 
mass  of  cinders. 

"  I  du  declare,"  said  Mat  Olmstead,  affecting  great  as 
tonishment,  "  it  ain't  a  salamander  hat  arter  all !  Well, 
I'll  pay  the  flip  !" 

Yet  wit  is  not  always  wisdom.  Keen  as  this  man  was 
as  to  things  immediately  before  him,  he  was  of  narrow 
understanding.  He  seemed  not  to  possess  the  faculty  of 
reasoning  beyond  his  senses.  He  never  would  admit 
that  the  sun  was  fixed,  and  that  the  world  turned  round. 


OWNSTORY.  89 

I  remember,  that  when  the  great  solar  eclipse  of  1806 
was  approaching,  he  with  two  other  men  were  at  work 
in  one  of  onr  fields,  not  far  from  the  house.  The  eclipse 
was  to  begin  at  ten  or  eleven  o'clock,  and  my  father  in 
vited  the  workmen  to  come  up  and  observe  it  through 
some  pieces  of  smoked  glass.  They  came,  though  Mat 
ridiculed  the  idea  of  an  eclipse — not  but  the  thing  might 
happen ;  but  it  was  idle  to  suppose  it  could  be  foretold. 
While  they  were  waiting  and  watching,  my  father  ex 
plained  the  cause  and  nature  of  the  phenomenon. 

Mat  laughed  with  that  low,  scoffing  chuckle,  with 
which  a  woodcock,  safe  in  his  den,  replies  to  the  bark  of 
a  besieging  dog. 

"  So  you  don't  believe  this?"  said  my  father. 

"  No,"  said  Mat,  shaking  his  head ;  "  I  don't  believe  a 
word  of  it.  You  say,  Parson  Goodrich,  that  the  sun  is 
fixed,  and  don't  move  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  say  so." 

"Well :  didn't  you  preach  last  Sunday  out  of  the  10th 
chapter  of  Joshua  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  And  didn't  you  tell  us  that  Joshua  commanded  the 
sun  and  moon  to  stand  still  ?" 

"Yes." 

"  Well :  what  was  the  use  of  telling  the  sun  to  stand 
still  if  it  never  moved  ?" 

This  was  a  dead  shot,  especially  at  a  parson,  and  in 
the  presence  of  an  audience  inclined,  from  the  fellow 
ship  of  ignorance,  to  receive  the  argument.  Being  thus 
successful,  Mat  went  on, — 

"  Now,  Parson  Goodrich,  let's  try  it  again.  If  you 
turn  a  thing  that's  got  water  in  it  bottom  up,  the  water '11 
run  out,  won't  it  ?" 


90  PETER     PARLEY'S 

"No  doubt." 

"If  the  world  turns  round,  then,  your  well  will  be 
turned  bottom  up,  and  the  water  '11  run  out !" 

At  this  point  my  father  applied  his  eye  to  the  sun, 
through  a  piece  of  smoked  glass.  The  eclipse  had  be 
gun  :  a  small  piece  was  evidently  cut  off  from  the  rim. 
My  father  stated  the  fact,  and  the  company  around  look 
ed  through  the  glass,  and  saw  that  it  was  so.  Mat  Olm- 
stead,  however,  sturdily  refused  to  try  it,  and  bore  on  his 
face  an  air  of  supreme  contempt ;  as  much  as  to  say 
"  You  don't  humbug  me !" 

But  ignorance  and  denial  of  the  works  of  God  do  not 
interrupt  their  march.  By  slow  and  invisible  degrees,  a 
shade  crept  over  the  landscape.  There  was  no  cloud  in 
the  sky ;  but  a  chill  stole  through  the  atmosphere,  and  a 
strange  dimness  fell  over  the  world.  It  was  mid-day,  yet 
it  seemed  like  the  approach  of  night.  All  nature  seemed 
chilled  and  awed  by  the  strange  phenomenon.  The 
birds,  with  startled  looks  and  ominous  notes,  left  their 
busy  cares  and  gathered  in  the  thick  branches  of  the 
trees,  where  they  seemed  to  hold  counsel  one  with  an 
other.  The  hens,  with  slow  and  hesitating  steps,  set 
their  faces  toward  their  roosts.  One  old  hen,  with  a 
brood  of  chickens,  walked  along  with  a  tall,  halting 
tread,  and  sought  shelter  upon  the  barn-floor,  where  she 
gathered  her  young  ones  under  her  wings,  continuing  to 
made  a  low  sound,  as  if  saying,  "  Hush,  my  babes,  lie 
still  and  slumber." 

I  well  remember  this  phenomenon — the  first  of  the 
kind  I  had  ever  witnessed.  Though  occupied  by  this 
seeming  conflict  of  the  heavenly  bodies,  I  recollect  to 
have  paid  some  attention  to  the  effect  of  the  scene  upon 


O  WW      STORY.  91 

others.  Mat  Olmstead  said  not  a  word ;  the  other  work 
men  were  overwhelmed  with  emotions  of  awe. 

At  length,  the  eclipse  began  to  pass  away,  and  nature 
slowly  returned  to  her  equanimity.  The  birds  came 
forth,  and  sang  a  jubilee,  as  if  relieved  from  some  im 
pending  calamity.  The  hum  of  life  again  filled  the  air  ; 
the  old  hen  with  her  brood  gaily  resumed  her  rambles, 
and  made  the  leaves  and  gravel  fly  with  her  invigorated 
scratchings.  The  workmen,  too,  having  taken  a  glass  of 
grog,  returned  thoughtfully  to  their  labors. 

"  After  all,"  said  one  of  the  men,  as  they  passed  along 
to  the  field;  "  I  guess  the  parson  was  right  about  the  sun 
and  the  moon." 

"  Well,  perhaps  he  was,"  said  Mat ;  "  but  then  Joshua 
was  wrong." 

This  incident  of  the  total  eclipse  was,  many  years  later, 
turned  to  account  in  Parley's  Magazine,  in  the  following 
dialogue  between  Peter  Parley  and  his  children : 

Parley.  Come,  John,  you  promised  to  write  some 
thing  for  this  number  of  the  Magazine ;  is  it  ready  ? 

John.     Well —  *  *  *  — not  exactly. 

Jane.  Oh,  Mr.  Parley — 'tis  ready — he  read  it  all  to 
me,  and  it's  real  good,  if  anybody  could  understand  it. 

P.  Bring  it  here,  John.  (John  comes  up  gingerly, 
and  gives  Mr.  Parley  a  piece  of  paper.) 

John.     There  'tis — but  you  mustn't  read  it  aloud. 

All  the  children.  Yes,  yes,  read  it !  Read  it !  Go 
ahead  ! 

P.  Well,  I'll  read  it — it  looks  pretty  good.  Now  let 
all  be  perfectly  still.  (Parley  reads.) 


92  PETER   JPARLEY'S 


PART    I. 

KEFLECTIONS   OK  A  HEN  WITH   CHICKENS    DURING    AN  ECLIPSE  OP  THE  BUK. 

"  Craw  *  *  *  craw  *  *  *  craw  !  What's  the  matter 
with  ray  eyes  ?  It  looks  very  dark,  for  a  clear  summer's 
day.  I  must  be  getting  old,  for  it  ain't  more  than  ten 
o'clock,  and  it  seems  exactly  like  sundown.  Craw  *  *  * 
craw  *  *  *  craw  !  Why,  it's  getting  cold.  It  seems 
as  chill  as  evening.  Cut,  cut,  cudawcut  !  What  can  be 
the  matter  ?  Why,  the  sun  is  going  to  bed  before  it's 
fairly  got  up.  Cur  —  r-r-r-r-r  !  Well,  after  all,  it  may  be 
only  a  fit  of  the  vapors  —  or  my  gizzard  may  be  put  out 
of  order  by  that  toad  I  ate  yesterday.  I  thought,  then, 
I  should  pay  dear  for  it.  Cur  —  r-r-r-r-r  ?  Here  chicks 
—  come  under  my  wings  !  I'm  going  to  take  a  nap. 
Come  along  —  Nip,  Dip,  Pip,  Kip  —  come  into  your 
featherbed,  my  little  dearies  !  There  !  Don't  stick  your 
noses  out  —  be  still  now  —  I'm  going  to  sing  a  song. 

Hush,  my  chickies—  don't  you  peep  — 
Hush,  my  children  —  go  to  sleep  1 
Now  the  night  is  dark  and  thick  — 
Go  to  sleep  each  little  chick  ! 


Fiddle-de-dee — I  can't  sleep,  and  the  chickens  are  as 
lively  as  bed-bugs.  Cut — cut — cu — daw — cut!  What 
on  airth  is  the  matter !  The  sun  has  got  put  out,  right 
up  there  in  the  sky,  just  like  a  candle.  Well — never  did 
I  see  or  hear  of  such  a  thing  afore  !  And  now  it's  night 


O  W  N     S"T  O  R  Y  .  93 

in  the  middle  of  the  day !  What  will  come  next  ? 
Why,  I  expect  I  shall  walk  on  my  head,  and  fly  with  my 
claws  !  It  ain't  half  fair,  to  shave  an  old  hen  and  chick 
ens  out  of  their  dinner  and  supper  in  this  way.  How 
ever,  it's  too  dark  for  decent  people  to  be  abroad.  So, 
my  chicks,  we  must  get  into  the  coop  and  go  to  rest. 
Cur — r-r-r-r — it's  very  queer  indeed.  How  thankful  I 
am  that  I  don't  make  day  and  night,  and  get  the  world 
into  such  a  scrape  as  this.  Come  in  !  Come  in,  chicks ! 
It  ain't  our  aft'air.  Come  along — there — you  rowdies ! 
You  ain't  sleepy,  and  I  don't  wonder  at  it.  But  hens  and 
chickens  must  go  to  bed  when  the  lamp  is  put  out. 
Cur — r-r-r-r-r. 

PART    II. 

REFLECTIONS  OF  A  PHILOSOPHER  UPON  A  BLADB  OF  GKA88. 

Here  is  a  leaf,  which  we  call  a  blade  of  grass.  There 
are  myriads  like  it  in  this  field ;  it  seems  a  trifle;  it 
seems  insignificant.  But  let  me  look  at  it  with  mv  glass. 
How  wonderful  is  its  texture  !  It  seems  woven  like  net 
work,  and  nothing  can  exceed  the  beauty  of  its  struc 
ture.  And  yet  every  blade  of  grass  is  like  this.  It  ex 
ceeds  all  human  art  in  the  delicacy  of  its  fabric,  yet  it 
grows  here  out  of  the  ground.  Grows!  What  does 
that  mean?  What  makes  it  grow?  Has  it  life1?  It 
must  have  life,  or  it  could  not  grow.  And  what  is  that 
life?  It  cannot  think;  it  cannot  walk;  who  makes  it 
grow  then  ?  Who  made  this  blade  of  grass  ?  It  was 
not  man ;  it  is  not  the  beast  of  the  field.  It  is  God  who 
made  it!  And  is  God  here  in  the  field,  all  around 


94  PETEK      BARLEY'S 

me — in   every  blade  of  grass,  in  every  leaf,  and   stem, 
and  flower  ? 

It  must  be  so,  indeed.  How  full  of  instruction  is 
every  thing  around  us,  if  we  use  the  powers  we  possess! 

Moral.  Some  people  believe,  that  birds  and  beasts 
have  minds  and  souls  as  well  as  human  beings ;  but  we 
see  that  the  most  stupendous  wonder  of  nature  excited  in 
one  of  the  most  intelligent  and  civilized  of  birds,  only  a 
queer  sort  of  surprise,  expressed  in  the  words  cut — cut — 
cu — dawcut !  At  the  same  time  it  appears  that  a  single 
blade  of  grass  opens  to  the  philosopher  a  sublime  strain 
of  thought,  teaching  the  profound  lesson  that  God  is 
everywhere ! 

Is  there  not  a  gulf  as  wide  as  eternity,  between  the 
human  soul  and  animal  instinct  ? 

All  the  children.     Bravo,  bravo — John  ! 

Parley.  Well,  John — that'll  do  for  a  boy.  I  shan't 
insert  it  as  my  own,  you  know ;  people  will  say,  it's  good 
for  John  Smith,  only  fourteen  years  old ;  but  for  Peter 
Parley — why,  it's  too  ridiculous,  altogether.  At  any 
rate — John — the  moral  is  good — and  if  people  do  laugh 
at  the  article,  you  just  say  to  'em — keep  your  tongue  be 
tween  your  teeth,  till  you  do  better,  and  you  won't  speak 
for  a  year!  There's  nothing  like  showing  a  proper 
spirit  upon  occasions  of  importance. 

To  return  to  Mat  Olmstead.  Notwithstanding  his 
habitual  incredulity,  he  had  still  his  weak  side,  for  he 
was  a  firm  believer  in  ghosts :  not  ghosts  in  general,  but 
in  two  that  he  had  seen  himself.  These  were  of  enor 
mous  size,  white,  and  winged  like  angels.  He  had  seen 


OWN     STORY.  95 

them  one  dark  night  as  he  was  going  to  his  house,  which 
was  situated  in  a  lonesome  lane  that  diverged  from  the 
high  road.  It  was  very  late,  and  Mat  had  spent  the 
evening  at  the  tavern,  like  Tarn  O'Shanter  ;  like  him,  he 
"  was  na  fou,  but  just  had  plenty."  Well,  Mat  Oln> 
stead's  two  angels  turned  out  to  be  a  couple  of  white 
geese,  which  he  had  startled  into  flight  as  he,  stumbled 
upon  them  quietly  snoozing  in  the  joint  of  a  rail  fence ! 

It  has  often  appeared  to  me  that  Mat  Olmstead  was  a 
type,  a  representative  of  a  class  of  men  not  very  rare  in 
this  world  of  ours.  It  is  not  at  all  uncommon  to  find 
people,  and  those  who  are  called  strong-minded,  who  are 
habitual  unbelievers  in  things  possible  and  probable — 
nay,  in  things  well  established  by  testimony — while  they 
readily  become  the  dupes  of  the  most  absurd  illusions 
and  impositions.  Dr.  Johnson,  it  is  stated,  did  not  be 
lieve  in  the  great  earthquake  of  Lisbon  in  1755,  until  six 
months  after  it  had  happened,  while  he  readily  accepted 
the  egregious  deception  of  the  Cock  Lane  Ghost.  In 
our  day  we  see  people,  and  sharp  ones,  too,  who  reject 
the  plainest  teachings  of  common  sense,  sanctioned  by 
the  good  and  wise  of  centuries,  and  follow  with  implicit 
faith  some  goose  of  the  imagination,  like  Joe  Smith  or 
Brigham  Young.  These  are  Mat  Olmsteads,  a  little  in 
toxicated  by  their  own  imaginations,  and  in  their  night 
of  ignorance  and  folly  they  fall  down  and  worship  the 
grossest  and  goosiest  of  illusions. 

I  now  turn  to  a  different  character,  Lieutenant,  or,  as 
we  all  called  him,  Lef tenant  Smith,  who  has  been  already 
introduced  to  you.  He  was  a  man  of  extensive  reading 
and  large  information ;  he  was  also  some  sixty  years  old", 
and  had  stored  in  his  memory  the  results  of  his  own  ob 
servation  and  experience.  He  read  tlie  newspapers  and 


96  PETERPARLEY'S 

conversed  with  travellers,  affected  philosophy,  and  deemed 
himself  the  great  intelligencer  of  the  town :  he  dearly 
loved  to  dispense  his  learning,  asking  only  in  return  at 
tentive  listeners ;  and  he  liked  discussion,  provided  the 
talk  was  all  left  to  himself.  He  was  equal  to  all  ques 
tions  :  with  my  father,  he  dilated  upon  such  high  matters 
as  the  purchase  of  Louisiana ;  Lewis  and  Clarke's  ex 
ploring  expedition  ;  the  death  of  Hamilton  in  the  duel 
with  Aaron  Burr;  the  attack  of  the  Leopard  on  the 
Chesapeake ;  Fulton's  attempts  at  steam  navigation,  and 
the  other  agitating  topics  of  those  times,  as  they  came 
one  after  another. 

I  have  an  impression  now  that  Lieut.  Smith,  after  all, 
was  not  very  profound  ;  but  to  me  he  was  a  miracle  of 
learning.  I  listened  to  his  discussions  with  very  little 
interest,  but  his  narratives  engaged  my  whole  attention. 
These  were  always  descriptive  of  actual  events,  for  he 
would  have  disdained  fiction  :  from  them  I  derived  a 
satisfaction  that  I  never  found  in  fables.  The  travels  of 
Mungo  Park,  his  strange  adventures  and  melancholy 
death,  which  about  those  days  transpired  through  the 
newspapers,  and  all  of  which  Lieut.  Smith  had  at  his 
tongue's  end,  excited  my  interest  and  my  imagination, 
even  beyond  the  romances  of  Sinbad  the  Sailor  and 
Robinson  Crusoe. 

In  the  year  1807  an  event  occurred,  not  only  startling 
in  itself,  but  giving  exercise  to  all  the  philosophical 
powers  of  Lieut.  Smith.  On  the  morning  of  the  14th  of 
December,  about  daybreak,  I  had  arisen,  and  was  oc 
cupied  in  building  a  fire,  this  being  my  daily  duty  ;  sud 
denly  the  room  was  filled  with  light,  and,  looking  up,  I 
saw  through  the  window  a  ball  of  fire,  nearly  the  size  of 
the  moon,  passing  across  the  heavens  from  north-west  to 


OWN     STORY.  97 

south-east.  It  was  at  an  immense  height,  and  of  intense 
brilliancy.  Having  passed  the  zenith,  it  swiftly  descended 
toward  the  earth :  while  still  at  a  great  elevation  it  burst, 
with  three  successive  explosions,  into  fiery  fragments. 
The  report  was  like  three  claps  of  rattling  thunder  iu 
quick  succession. 

My  father,  who  saw  the  light  and  heard  the  sounds, 
declared  it  to  be  a  meteor  of  extraordinary  magnitude. 
It  was  noticed  all  over  the  town,  and  caused  great  excite 
ment.  On  the  following  day  the  news  came  that  huge 
fragments  of  stone  had  fallen  in  the  adjacent  town  of 
Weston,  some  eight  or  ten  miles  south-east  of  Ridgefield. 
It  appeared  that  the  people  in  the  neighborhood  heard 
the  rushing  of  the  stones  through  the  air,  as  well  as  the 
shock  when  they  struck  the  earth.  One,  weighing  two 
hundred  pounds,  fell  on  a  rock,  which  it  splintered  ;  its 
huge  fragments  ploughing  up  the  ground  around  to  the 
extent  of  a  hundred  feet.  This  meteor  was  estimated  to 
be  half-a-mile  in  diameter,  and  to  have  travelled  through 
the  heavens  at  the  rate  of  two  or  three  hundred  miles  a 
minute. 

On  this  extraordinary  occasion  the  Lieutenant  came 
to  our  house,  according  to  his  wont,  and  for  several  suc 
cessive  evenings  discoursed  to  us  upon  the  subject.  I 
must  endeavor  to  give  you  a  specimen  of  his  perfor 
mances. 

"  I  have  examined  the  subject,  sir,"  said  he,  addressing 
my  father,  "  and  am  inclined  to  the  opinion  that  these 
phenomena  are  animals  revolving  in  the  orbits  of  space 
between  the  heavenly  bodies.  Occasionally,  one  of  them 
comes  too  near  the  earth,  and  rushing  through  our  atmos 
phere  with  immense  velocity,  takes  fire  and  explodes  !" 

"  This  is  rather  a  new  theory,  is  it  not  ?"  said  my 
9 


98  PETER     PARLEY'S 

father.  "  It  appears  that  these  meteoric  stones,  in  what 
ever  country  they  fall,  are  composed  of  the  same  ingre 
dients  :  mostly  silex,  iron,  and  nickel :  these  substances 
would  make  rather  a  hard  character,  if  endowed  with 
animal  life,  and  especially  with  the  capacity  of  rushing 
through  space  at  the  rate  of  two  or  three  hundred  miles 
a  minute,  and  then  exploding  ?" 

"  These  substances  I  consider  only  as  the  shell  of  the 
animal,  sir." 

"  You  regard  the  creature  as  a  huge  shell-fish,  then  ?" 

"  Not  necessarily  a  fish  ;  for  the  whole  order  of  nature, 
called  Crustacea,  has  the  bones  on  the  outside.  In  this 
case  of  meteors,  I  suppose  them  to  be  covered  with  some 
softer  substance ;  for  it  frequently  happens  that  a  jelly- 
like  matter  comes  down  with  meteoric  stones.  This 
resembles  coagulated  blood ;  and  thus  what  is  called 
bloody  rain  or  snow  has  often  fallen  over  great  spaces  of 
country.  Now,  when  the  chemists  analyze  these  things 
— the  stones,  which  I  consider  the  bones  ;  and  the  jelly, 
which  I  consider  the  fat ;  and  the  rain,  which  I  consider 
the  blood — they  find  them  all  to  consist  of  the  same  ele 
ments  ;  that  is,  silex,  iron,  nickel,  &c.  None  but  my 
animal  theory  will  harmonise  all  these  phenomena,  sir." 

"  But,"  interposed  my  father,  "  consider  the  enormous 
size  of  your  aerial  monsters.  I  recollect  to  have  read 
only  a  short  time  since,  that  in  the  year  1803,  about  one 
o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  the  inhabitants  of  several  towns 
of  Normandy,  in  France,  heard  noises  in  the  sky,  like  the 
peals  of  cannon  and  musketry,  with  a  long-continued  roll 
of  drums.  Looking  upward,  they  saw  something  like  a 
small  cloud  at  an  immense  elevation,  which  soon  seemed 
to  explode,  sending  its  vapor  in  all  directions.  At  last  a 
hissing  noise  was  heard,  and  then  stones  fell,  spreading 


OWN     STORY.  99 

over  a  country  three  miles  wide  by  eight  miles  long.  No 
less  than  two  thousand  pieces  were  collected,  weighing 
from  one  ounce  to  seventeen  pounds.  That  must  have 
been  rather  a  large  animal,  eight  miles  long  and  three 
miles  wide !" 

"  What  is  that,  sir,  in  comparison  with  the  earth, 
which  Kepler,  the  greatest  philosopher  that  ever  lived, 
conceived  to  be  a  huge  beast  ?" 

"  Yes ;  but  did  he  prove  it  ?" 

"He  gave  good  reasons  for  it,  sir.  He  found  very 
striking  analogies  between  the  earth  and  animal  exis 
tences  :  such  as  the  tides,  indicating  its  breathing  through 
vast  internal  lungs  ;  earthquakes,  resembling  eructations 
from  the  stomach ;  and  volcanoes,  suggestive  of  boils, 
pimples,  and  other  cutaneous  eruptions." 

"  I  think  I  have  seen  your  theory  set  to  verse." 

Saying  this,  my  father  rose,  and  bringing  a  book, 
read  as  follows, — 

"  To  mo  things  are  not  as  to  vulgar  eyea — 
I  would  all  nature's  works  anatomize : 
This  world  a  living  monster  seems  to  me, 
Eolling  and  sporting  in  the  aerial  sea : 
The  soil  encompasses  her  rocks  and  stones, 
As  flesh  in  animals  encircles  bones. 
I  see  vast  ocean,  like  a  heart  in  play, 
Pant  systole  and  diastole  every  day. 

The  world's  great  lungs,  monsoons  and  trade-winds  show— • 
From  east  to  west,  from  west  to  east  they  blow. 
The  hills  are  pimples,  which  earth's  face  defile, 
And  burning  Etna  an  eruptive  boil. 
On  her  high  mountains  living  forests  grow, 
And  downy  grass  o'erspreads  the  vales  below: 
From  her  vast  body  perspirations  rise, 
Condense  in  clouds  and  float  beneath  the  skies." 


100  PETER     PARLEY'S 

My  father  having  closed  the  book,  the  profound 
Lieutenant,  who  did  not  conceive  it  possible  that  a  thing 
eo  serious  could  be  made  the  subject  of  a  joke,  said, — 

"  A  happy  illustration  of  my  philosophy,  sir,  though  I 
cannot  commend  the  form  in  which  it  is  put.  If  a  man 
has  anything  worth  saying,  sir,  he  should  use  prose. 
Poetry  is  only  proper  when  one  wishes  to  embellish  folly 
or  dignify  trifles.  In  this  case  it  is  otherwise,  I  admit ; 
and  I  am  happy  to  find  so  powerful  a  supporter  of  my 
animal  theory  of  meteors.  I  shall  consider  the  subject, 
and  present  it  for  the  consideration  of  the  philosophic 
world." 

One  prominent  characteristic  of  this  philosopher  was, 
that  when  a  great  event  came  about,  he  fancied  that  he 
had  foreseen  and  predicted  it  from  the  beginning.  Now, 
about  this  time  Fulton  actually  succeeded  in  his  long- 
sought  application  of  steam  to  navigation.  The  general 
opinion  of  the  country  had  been,  all  along,  that  he  was 
a  monomaniac,  attempting  an  impossibility.  He  was  the 
standing  theme  of  cheap  newspaper  wit,  and  a  God-send 
to  orators  who  were  hard  run  for  a  joke.  Lieutenant 
Smith,  who  was  only  an  echo  of  what  passed  around  him 
during  the  period  of  Fulton's  labors,  joined  in  the  cur 
rent  contempt;  but  when  the  news  came,  in  Octobei, 
1807,  that  he  had  actually  succeeded — that  one  of  his 
boats  had  steamed  at  the  rate  of  five  miles  an  hour 
against  the  current  of  the  Hudson  river — then,  still  an 
echo  of  the  public  voice,  did  he  greatly  jubilate. 

"  I  told  you  so  !  I  told  you  so  !"  was  his  first  exclama 
tion,  as  he  entered  the  house,  swelling  with  the  account, 

"  Well,  and  what  is  it  ?"  said  my  father. 

"Fulton  has  made  his  boat  go,  sir !     I  told  you  how  it 


OWN      8TORT.  101 

would  be,  sir.  It  opens  a  new  era  in  the  history  of  navi 
gation.  We  shall  go  to  Europe  in  ten  days,  sir." 

Now,  you  will  readily  understand,  that  in  these 
sketches  I  do  not  pretend  to  report  with  literal  precision 
the  profound  discourses  of  our  Ridgefield  savant ;  I  re 
member  only  the  general  outlines,  the  rest  being  easily 
suggested.  My  desire  is  to  present  the  portrait  of  one 
of  the  notables  of  our  village — one  whom  I  remember 
with  pleasure,  and  whom  I  conceive  to  be  a  representa 
tive  of  the  amiable,  and  perhaps  useful  race  of  fussy 
philosophers  to  be  found  in  most  country  villages. 

From  the  town  oracle  I  turn  to  the  town  miser. 
Granther  Baldwin,  as  I  remember  him,  was  threescore 
years  and  ten — perhaps  a  little  more.  He  was  a  man  of 
middle  size,  thin,  wiry,  and  bloodless,  and  having  his 
body  bent  forward  at  a  sharp  angle  with  his  hips,  while 
his  head  was  thrown  back  over  his  shoulders,  giving  his 
person  the  general  form  of  a  reversed  letter  Z.  His 
complexion  was  brown  and  stony ;  his  eye  grey  and 
twinkling,  with  a  nose  and  chin  almost  meeting  like  a  pair 
of  forceps.  His  hair,  standing  out  with  an  irritable  friz, 
was  of  a  rusty  gray.  He  always  walked  and  rode  with 
restless  rapidity.  At  church,  he  wriggled  in  his  seat, 
tasted  fennel,  and  bobbed  his  head  up  and  down  and 
around.  He  could  not  afford  tobacco,  so  he  chewed,  with 
a  constant  activity,  either  an  oak  chip  or  the  roots  of  ele 
campane,  which  was  indigenous  in  the  lane  near  his  house. 
On  Sundays  he  was  decent  in  his  attire,  but  on  week-days 
he  was  a  beggarly  curiosity.  It  was  said  that  he  once  ex 
changed  hats  with  a  scarecrow,  and  cheated  scandalously 
in  the  bargain.  His  boots — a  withered  wreck  of  an 
old  pair  of  whitetops— dangled  over  his  shrunken  calves, 
and  a  coat  in  tatters  fluttered  from  his  body.  He  rode  a 
9* 


102  PETER     PARLEY'S 

rat-tailed,  ambling  mare,  which  always  went  like  the  wind, 
shaking  the  old  gentleman  merrily  from  right  to  left,  and 
making  his  bones,  boots,  and  rags  rustle  like  his  own 
bush-harrow.  Familiar  as  he  was,  the  school-boys  were 
never  tired  of  him,  and  when  he  passed,  "There  goes 
Granther  Baldwin  !"  was  the  invariable  ejaculation. 

I  must  add,  in  order  to  complete  the  picture,  that  in 
contrast  to  his  leanness  and  activity,  his  wife  was  very 
fat,  and,  either  from  indolence  or  lethargy,  dozed  away 
half  her  life  in  the  chimney-corner.  She  spent  a  large 
part  of  her  life  in  cheating  her  husband  out  of  fourpence- 
ha'pennies,  of  which  more  than  a  peck  were  found 
secreted  in  an  old  chest  at  her  death. 

It  was  the  boast  of  this  man  that  he  had  risen  from 
poverty  to  wealth,  and  he  loved  to  describe  the  process 
of  his  advancement.  He  always  worked  in  the  corn 
field  till  it  was  so  dark  that  he  could  see  his  hoe  strike 
fire.  When  in  the  heat  of  summer  he  was  obliged  occa 
sionally  to  let  his  cattle  breathe,  he  sat  on  a  sharp  stone, 
lest  he  should  rest  too  long.  He  paid  half-a-dollar  to 
the  parson  for  marrying  him,  which  he  always  regretted, 
as  one  of  his  neighbors  got  the  job  done  for  a  pint  of 
mustard-seed.  On  fast-days  he  made  his  cattle  go  with 
out  food  as  well  as  himself.  He  systematically  stooped 
to  save  a  crooked  pin  or  a  rusty  nail,  as  it  would  cost 
more  to  make  it  than  to  pick  it  up.  Such  were  his 
boasts — or  at  least,  such  were  the  things  traditionally 
imputed  to  him. 

He  was  withal  a  man  of  keen  faculties ;  sagacious  in 
the  purchase  of  land,  as  well  as  in  the  rotation  of  crops. 
He  was  literally  honest,  and  never  cheated  any  one 
out  of  a  farthing,  according  to  his  arithmetic,  though  he 
had  sometimes  an  odd  way  of  reckoning.  It  is  said 


OWN     STORT.  103 

that  in  his  day  the  law  imposed  a  fine  of  one  dollar  for 
profane  swearing.  During  this  period,  Granther  Baldwin 
employed  a  carpenter  who  was  notoriously  addicted  to 
this  vice.  Granther  kept  a  strict  account  of  every  in 
stance  of  transgression,  and  when  the  job  was  done,  and 
the  time  came  to  settle  the  account,  he  said  to  the 
carpenter, — 

"You've  worked  with  me  thirty  days,  I  think,  Mr. 
Kellogg?" 

"  Yes,  Granther,"  was  the  reply. 

"At  a  dollar  a-day:  that  makes  thirty  dollars,  I 
think  ?" 

"Yes,  Granther." 

"  Mr.  Kellogg,  I  am  sorry  to  observe  that  you  have  a 
very  bad  habit  of  taking  the  Lord's  name  in  vain." 

"  Yes,  Granther." 

"  Well,  you  know  that's  agin  the  law." 

"Yes,  Granther." 

"  And  there's  a  fine  of  one  dollar  for  each  offence." 

"  Yes,  Granther." 

"  Well — here's  the  account  I've  kept,  and  I  find 
you've  broken  the  law  twenty-five  times  ;  that  is,  sixteen 
times  in  April,  and  nine  in  May.  At  a  dollar  a  time, 
that  makes  twenty-five  dollars— don't  it  ?" 

"Yes,  Granther." 

"  So,  then,  twenty-five  from  thirty  leaves  five ;  it  ap 
pears,  therefore,  that  there  is  a  balance  of  five  dollars 
due  to  you.  How'll  you  take  it,  Mr.  Kellogg  ?  In  cash, 
or  in  my  way — say  in  'tatera,  pork,  and  other  things  ?" 

At  this  point  the  carpenter's  brow  lowered,  but  with  a 
prodigious  effort  at  composure  he  replied, — 

u  Well,  Granther,  you  may  keep  the  five  dollars,  and 
I'll  take  it  out  in  my  way — that  is,  in  swearing !" 


104  PETER     PARLEY'S 

Upon  this  he  hurled  at  the  old  gentleman  a  volley  of 
oaths,  too  numerous  and  too  profane  to  repeat. 

One  sketch  more,  and  my  gallery  of  eccentricities  is 
finished.  Men  hermits  have  been  frequently  heard  of, 
but  a  woman  hermit  is  of  rare  occurrence.  Neverthe 
less,  Ridgefield  could  boast  of  one  of  these  among  its 
curiosities.  Sarah  Bishop  was,  at  the  period  of  my  boy 
hood,  a  thin,  ghostly  old  woman,  bent  and  wrinkled,  but 
still  possessing  a  good  deal  of  activity.  She  lived  in  a 
cave,  formed  by  nature,  in  a  mass  of  projecting  rocks  that 
overhung  a  deep  valley  or  gorge  in  West  Mountain, 
about  four  miles  from  our  house. 

The  rock,  bare  and  desolate,  was  her  home,  except  that 
occasionally  she  strayed  to  the  neighborhood  villages; 
seldom  being  absent  more  than  one  or  two  days  at  a  time. 
She  never  begged,  but  received  such  articles  as  were 
given  to  her.  She  was  of  a  highly  religious  turn  of 
mind,  and  at  long  intervals  came  to  our  church,  and  par 
took  of  the  sacrament.  She  sometimes  visited  our  family 
— the  only  one  thus  favored  in  the  town — and  occa 
sionally  remained  overnight.  She  never  would  eat  with 
us  at  the  table,  nor  engage  in  general  conversation. 
Upon  her  early  history  she  was  invariably  silent ;  indeed, 
she  spoke  of  her  affairs  with  great  reluctance.  She 
neither  seemed  to  have  sympathy  for  others,  nor  to  ask  it  in 
return.  If  there  was  any  exception,  it  was  only  in  respect 
to  the  religious  exercises  of  the  family  :  she  listened 
intently  to  the  reading  of  the  Bible,  and  joined  with  ap 
parent  devotion  in  the  morning  and  evening  prayer. 

My  excursions  frequently  brought  me  within  the  wild 
precincts  of  her  solitary  den.  Several  times  I  have  paid 
a  visit  to  the  spot,  and  in  two  instances  found  her  at 
home.  A  place  more  desolate,  in  its  general  outline, 


OWN     STOKY.  105 

more  absolutely  given  up  to  the  wildness  of  nature,  it  is 
impossible  to  conceive.  Her  cave  was  a  hollow  in  the 
rock,  about  six  feet  square.  Except  a  few  rags  and  an 
old  basin,  it  was  without  furniture  ;  her  bed  being  the 
floor  of  the  cave,  and  her  pillow  a  projecting  point  of  the 
rock.  It  was  entered  by  a  natural  door  about  three  feet 
wide  and  four  feet  high,  and  was  closed  in  severe  weather 
only  by  pieces  of  bark.  At  a  distance  of  a  few  feet  was 
a  cleft,  where  she  kept  a  supply  of  roots  and  nuts,  which 
she  gathered,  and  the  food  that  was  given  her.  She  was 
reputed  to  have  a  secret  depository,  where  she  kept  a 
quantity  of  antique  dresses ;  several  of  them  of  rich 
silks,  and  apparently  suited  to  fashionable  life :  though  I 
think  this  was  an  exaggeration.  At  a  little  distance 
down  the  ledge  there  was  a  fine  spring  of  water,  near 
which  she  was  often  found  in  fair  weather. 

There  was  no  attempt,  either  in  or  around  the  spot,  to 
bestow  upon  it  an  air  of  convenience  or  comfort.  A 
small  space  of  cleared  ground  was  occupied  by  a  few 
thriftless  peachtrees,  and  in  summer  a  patch  of  starveling 
beans,  cucumbers,  and  potatoes.  Up  two  or  three  of  the 
adjacent  forest-trees  there  clambered  luxuriant  grape 
vines,  highly  productive  in  their  season.  With  the  ex 
ception  of  these  feeble  marks  of  cultivation,  all  was  left 
ghastly  and  savage  as  nature  made  it.  The  trees,  stand 
ing  upon  the  tops  of  the  cliff,  and  exposed  to  the  shock 
of  the  tempest,  were  bent  and  stooping  towards  the 
valley  :  their  limbs  contorted,  and  their  roots  clinging,  as 
with  an  agonized  grasp,  into  the  rifts  of  the  rocks  upon 
which  they  stood.  Many  of  them  were  hoary  with  age, 
and  hollow  with  decay ;  others  were  stripped  of  their  leaves 
by  the  blasts ;  and  others  still,  grooved  and  splintered  by 
the  lightning.  The  valley  below,  enriched  with  the  decay 


106  PETER     PARLEY'S 

of  centuries,  and  fed  with  moisture  from  the  surrounding 
hills,  was  a  wild  paradise  of  towering  oaks,  and  other 
giants  of  the  vegetable  kingdom,  with  a  rank  under 
growth  of  tangled  shrubs.  In  the  distance,  to  the  east, 
the  gathered  streams  spread  out  into  a  beautiful  expanse 
of  water  called  Long  Pond. 

A  place  at  once  so  secluded  and  so  wild  was,  of  course,  the 
chosen  haunt  of  birds,  beasts  and  reptiles.  The  eagle  built 
her  nest  and  reared  her  young  in  the  clefts  of  the  rocks  ; 
foxes  found  shelter  in  the  caverns  ;  and  serpents  revelled 
alike  in  the  dry  hollows  of  the  cliffs  and  the  dark  recesses 
of  the  valley.  The  hermitess  had  made  companionship 
with  these  brute  tenants  of  the  wood.  The  birds  had 
become  so  familiar  with  her,  that  they  seemed  to  heed 
her  almost  as  little  as  if  she  had  been  a  stone.  The  fox 
fearlessly  pursued  his  hunt  and  his  gambols  in  her 
presence.  The  rattlesnake  hushed  his  monitory  signal  as 
he  approached  her.  Such  things,  at  least,  were  enter 
tained  by  the  popular  belief.  It  was  said,  indeed,  that 
she  had  domesticated  a  particular  rattlesnake,  and  that 
he  paid  her  daily  visits.  She  was  accustomed — so  said 
the  legend — to  bring  him  milk  from  the  villages,  which 
he  devoured  with  great  relish. 

It  will  not  surprise  you  that  a  subject  like  this  should 
have  given  rise  to  one  of  my  first  poetical  efforts ;  the 
first  verses,  in  fact,  that  I  ever  published.  I  gave  them 
to  Brainard,  then  editor  of  the  Mirror,  at  Hartford ;  and 
he  inserted  them,  probably  about  the  year  1823. 

The  facts  in  respect  to  this  Nun  of  the  Mountain  were, 
indeed,  strange  enough,  without  any  embellishment  of 
fancy.  During  the  winter  she  was  confined  for  several 
months  to  her  cell.  At  that  period  she  lived  upon  roots 
and  nuts,  which  she  had  laid  in  for  the  season.  She  had 


OWN     STORY.  107 

no  fire  ;  and,  deserted  even  by  her  brute  companions,  she 
was  absolutely  alone.  She  appeared  to  have  no  sense  of 
solitude,  no  weariness  at  the  slow  lapse  of  days  and 
months.  When  spring  returned,  she  came  down  from 
her  mountain  a  mere  shadow  ;  each  year  her  form  more 
bent,  her  limbs  more  thin  and  wasted,  her  hair  more 
blanched,  her  eye  more  colorless.  At  last,  life  seemed 
ebbing  away,  like  the  faint  light  of  a  lamp  sinking  into 
the  socket.  The  final  winter  came ;  it  passed,  and  she 
was  not  seen  in  the  villages  around.  Some  of  the  in 
habitants  went  to  the  mountain,  and  found  her  standing 
erect,  her  feet  sunk  in  the  frozen  marsh  of  the  valley.  In 
this  situation,  being  unable  to  extricate  herself,  she  had 
yielded  her  breath  to  Him  who  gave  it ! 

The  early  history  of  this  strange  personage  was  in 
volved  in  some  mystery.     So  much  as  this,  however,  was 
ascertained,  that  she  was  of  good  family,  and  lived  on 
Long  Island.     During  the  Revolutionary  war,  in  one  of 
the  numerous  forays  of  the  British  soldiers,  her  father's 
house   was  burned,   and   she   was    infamously  treated. 
Desolate  in  fortune,   blighted   at  heart,  she  fled   from 
luman  society,  and  for  a  long  time  concealed  her  sor- 
•ows  in  the  cavern  which  she  had  accidentally  found, 
ler  grief — softened  by  time,  perhaps  alleviated  by  a  veil 
•f  insanity — was  at  length  so  far  mitigated,  that,  although 
he  did  not  seek  human  society,  she  could  endure  it. 
he  continued  to  occupy  her  cave  till  the  year  1810  or 
811,  when  she  departed  in  the  manner  I  have  described ; 
.  id  we  may  hope,  for  a  brighter  and  happier  existence. 


CHAPTEK    IX. 

FABEWKLL  TO  HOME — DANBUKY — MY    NEW  VOCATION — MY    BROTIJEB-IN-LAW 
—HIS   CONVERSATIONS  WITH  LAWTBK  HATCH— CLEBIOAL  ANECDOTES. 

IN  the  autumn  of  the  year  1808,  a  sudden  change  took 
place  in  my  prospects.  My  eldest  sister  had  married  a 
gentleman  by  the  name  of  Cooke,  in  the  adjacent  town 
of  Danbury.  He  was  a  tradesman,  and  being  in  want  of 
a  clerk,  offered  me  the  place.  It  was  considered  a  de 
sirable  situation  by  my  parents,  and,  overlooking  my  me 
chanical  aptitudes,  they  accepted  it  at  once,  and  at  the 
age  of  fifteen  I  found  myself  installed  in  a  country  store. 

This  arrangement  gratified  my  love  of  change  ;  and  at 
the  same  time,  as  Danbury  was  a  much  more  consider 
able  town  than  Ridgefield,  going  to  live  there  naturally 
suggested  the  idea  of  advancement,  especially  as  I  was 
to  exchange  my  uncertain  prospects  for  a  positive  profes 
sion.  However,  I  little  comprehended  what  it  meant  to 
say,  "  Farewell  to  home :"  I  have  since  learned  its  sig 
nificance.  In  thus  bidding  adieu  to  the  paternal  roof, 
we  part  with  youth  for  ever.  We  part  with  the  spring 
tide  of  life,  which  strews  every  path  with  flowers,  fills  the 
air  with  poetry,  and  the  heart  with  rejoicing.  We  part 
with  that  genial  spirit  which  endows  familiar  objects — 
brooks,  lawns,  play-grounds,  hill-sides — with  its  own 
sweet  illusions  ;  we  bid  adieu  to  this  and  its  fairy  com 
panionships.  Even  if,  in  after  life,  wo  return  to  the 


PETER    PARLEY'S    OWN    STORY.       109 

scenes  of  our  childhood,  they  have  lost  the  bloom  of 
youth,  and  in  its  place  we  see  the  wrinkles  of  that  age 
which  has  graven  its  hard  lines  upon  our  hearts. 

Farewell  to  home  implies  something  even  yet  more 
serious  :  we  relinquish,  and  often  with  exultation,  the 
tender  care  of  parents,  in  order  to  take  upon  ourselves 
the  responsibilities  of  independence.  What  seeming  in 
fatuation  it  is,  that  renders  us  thus  impatient  of  the 
guidance  of  those  who  gave  us  being,  and  makes  us  at 
the  same  time  anxious  to  spread  our  untried  sails  upon 
an  untried  sea,  to  go  upon  a  voyage  which  involves  all 
the  chances,  evil  as  well  as  good,  of  existence !  And  yet 
it  is  not  infatuation — it  is  instinct.  We  cannot  always 
be  young  ;  we  cannot  all  remain  under  the  paternal  roof. 
The  old  birds  push  the  young  ones  from  the  nest,  and 
force  them  to  a  trial  of  their  wings.  It  is  the  system  of 
nature  that  impels  us  to  go  forth  and  try  our  fortunes, 
and  it  is  a  kind  Providence,  after  all,  which  endues  us 
with  courage  for  the  outset  of  our  uncertain  career. 

I  was  not  long  in  discovering  that  my  new  vocation 
was  very  different  from  what  I  had  expected,  and  very 
different  from  my  accustomed  way  of  life.  My  habits 
had  been  active,  my  employments  chiefly  in  the  open  air. 
I  was  accustomed  to  be  frequently  on  horseback,  and  to 
make  excursions  to  the  neighboring  towns.  I  had  also 
enjoyed  much  personal  liberty,  which  I  failed  not  to  use 
in  rambling  over  the  fields  and  forests.  All  this  was 
now  changed.  My  duties  lay  exclusively  in  the  store, 
and  this  seemed  now  my  prison.  From  morning  to 
night  I  remained  there,  and,  as  our  business  was  not 
large,  I  had  many  hours  upon  my  hands  with  nothing  to 
do  but  to  consider  the  weariness  of  my  situation.  My 
brother-in-law  was  always  present,  and  being  a  man  of 


110  PETER     PARLEY'S 

severe  aspect  and  watchful  eyes,  I  felt  a  sort  of  restraint, 
which,  for  a  time,  was  agonizing.  I  had,  consequently, 
pretty  sharp  attacks  of  homesickness ;  a  disease  which, 
though  not  dangerous,  is  one  of  the  most  distressing  to 
which  suffering  humanity  is  exposed. 

This  state  of  misery  continued  for  some  weeks,  during 
which  time  I  revolved  various  plans  of  escape  from  my 
confinement :  such  as  stealing  away  at  night,  making  my 
way  to  Norwalk,  getting  on  board  a  sloop,  and  going  as 
cabin-boy  to  the  West  Indies.  I  believe  that  a  small 
impulse  would  have  set  me  upon  some  such  mad  expedi 
tion.  By  degrees,  however,  I  became  habituated  to  my 
occupation,  and  as  my  situation  was  eligible  in  other  re 
spects,  I  found  myself  ere  long  reconciled  to  it. 

The  father  and  mother  of  my  brother-in-law  were  aged 
people,  living  with  him  in  the  same  house,  and  as  one 
family.  They  were  persons  of  great  amiability  and  ex 
cellence  of  character :  the  former,  Colonel  Cooke,  was 
eighty  years  of  age,  but  he  had  still  the  perfect  exercise 
of  his  faculties,  and  though  he  had  ceased  all  business, 
he  was  cheerful,  and  took  a  lively  interest  in  passing 
events.  Never  have  I  seen  a  more  pleasing  spectacle 
than  this  reverend  couple,  at  the  age  of  fourscore,  both 
smoking  their  pipes  in  the  evening,  with  two  generations 
of  their  descendants  around  them. 

My  brother-in-law  was  a  man  of  decided  character, 
and  his  portrait  deserves  a  place  in  these  annals.  He 
had  graduated  at  Yale  College,  and  had  been  qualified 
for  the  bar ;  but  his  health  was  feeble,  and  therefore, 
chiefly  for  occupation,  he  succeeded  to  the  store  which 
his  father  had  kept  before  him.  Being  in  easy  circum 
stances,  he  made  no  great  efforts  in  business.  Though, 
as  I  have  said,  he  was  of  stern  aspect,  and  his  manners 


OWN     STORY.  Ill 

were  somewhat  cold  and  distant,  his  character  was  that 
of  a  just  and  kind  man.  In  business  he  treated  people 
respectfully,  but  he  never  solicited  custom :  he  showed, 
but  never  recommended  his  goods.  If  his  advice  were 
asked,  he  offered  it  without  regard  to  his  own  interest 
He  gave  me  no  instructions,  but  left  me  to  the  influence 
of  his  example.  He  was  of  a  religious  turn  of  mind,  not 
merely  performing  the  accustomed  duties  of  a  Christian, 
but  making  devotional  books  a  large  part  of  his  study. 
Perhaps  he  was  conscious  of  failing  health,  and  already 
heard  the  monitory  voice  of  that  disease  which  was  ere 
long  to  terminate  his  career. 

Nevertheless,  he  was  not  insensible  to  the  pleasures  of 
cultivated  society,  and  however  grave  he  might  be  in  his 
general  air  and  manner,  he  was  particularly  gratified  with 
the  visits  of  a  man,  in  all  things  his  opposite,  Moses 
Hatch,  then  a  leading  lawyer  in  Danbury. 

This  person  was  a  frequent  visitor  to  the  store,  and  the 
long  winter  which  commenced  soon  after  I  entered  upon 
my  apprenticeship  was  not  a  little  enlivened  by  his  con 
versations  with  my  master.  It  frequently  happened  dur 
ing  the  deep  snows,  that  the  day  passed  without  a  single 
customer,  and  on  these  occasions  Lawyer  Hatch  was 
pretty  sure  to  pay  us  a  visit.  It  was  curious  to  see  these 
two  men,  so  opposite  in  character,  attracted  to  each  other 
as  if  by  contradiction.  My  brother-in-law  evidently 
found  a  pleasant  relaxation  in  the  conversation  of  his 
neighbor,  embellished  with  elegant  wit  and  varied  learn 
ing,  while  the  latter  derived  equal  gratification  from  the 
serious,  manly  intellect  of  his  friend.  In  general  the 
former  was  the  talker,  and  the  latter  the  listener ;  yet 
sometimes  the  conversation  became  discussion,  and  a 
teen  trial  of  wit  versus  logic  ensued.  The  lawyer  al- 


112  PETER     PARLEY'S 

ways  contended  for  victory ;  my  brother-in-law  for  the 
truth. 

The  precise  form  of  these  conversations  has  vanished 
from  my  mind,  but  some  of  the  topics  remain.  I  recol 
lect  long  talks  about  the  embargo,  non-intercourse,  and 
other  Jeffersonian  measures,  which  were  treated  with  un 
sparing  ridicule  and  reproach ;  anecdotes  and  incidents 
of  Napoleon,  who  excited  mingled  admiration  and  terror ; 
with  observations  upon  public  men,  as  well  in  Europe  as 
America.  I  remember  also  a  very  keen  discussion  upon 
Berkeley's  theory  of  the  ideality  of  nature,  mental  and 
material,  which  so  far  excited  my  curiosity,  that,  finding 
the  "  Minute  Philosopher"  by  that  author,  in  the  family 
library,  I  read  it  through  with  great  interest  and  atten 
tion.  The  frequent  references  to  Shakespeare  in  these 
conversations  led  me  to  look  into  his  works,  and,  incited 
by  the  recommendations  of  my  sister,  I  read  them 
through,  somewhat  doggedly,  seeking  even  to  penetrate 
the  more  difficult  and  obscure  passages. 

It  frequently  happened  that  my  master,  owing  to  the 
influence  of  disease,  was  affected  with  depression  of 
spirits ;  and  the  lawyer's  best  wit  and  choicest  stones 
were  expended  without  even  exciting  a  smile.  Not  dis 
couraged,  but  rather  stimulated  by  such  adversity,  he 
usually  went  on,  and  was  pretty  sure  at  last  to  strike  the 
vein,  as  Moses  did  the  water  in  the  rock,  and  a  gush  of 
uncontrollable  laughter  was  the  result.  I  remember  in 
one  instance,  Mr.  Cooke  sat  for  a  long  time,  looking 
moodily  into  the  fire,  while  Squire  Hatch  went  on  telling 
stories,  chiefly  about  clergymen,  of  which  he  had  a  great 
assortment.  I  will  endeavor  to  give  you  a  sketch  of  the 
scene. 

"  I  know  not  why  it  is  so,"  said  the  lawyer ;  "  but  the 


OWN      8TO  BY.  113 

fact  is  undeniable,  that  the  most  amusing  anecdotes  are 
about  clergymen.  The  reason  perhaps  is,  that  incongruity 
is  the  source  of  humorous  associations ;  and  this  is  evi 
dently  the  most  frequent  and  striking  in  a  profession 
which  sets  apart  its  members  as  above  the  mass  of  man 
kind,  in  a  certain  gravity  of  character  and  demeanor,  of 
which  the  black  coat  is  the  emblem.  A  spot  upon  this 
strikes  every  eye,  while  a  brown  coat,  being  the  color  of 
dirt,  hides  rather  than  reveals  what  is  upon  its  surface. 
Thus  it  is,  as  we  all  know,  that  what  would  be  insipid  as 
coming  from  a  layman,  is  very  laughable  if  it  happens  to 
a  parson.  I  have  heard  that  on  a  certain  occasion,  as 

the  Rev.  J M was  about  to  read  a  hymn,  he 

saw  a  little  boy  sitting  behind  the  chorister  in  the  gallery, 
who  had  intensely  red  hair.  The  day  was  cold,  and  the 
little  rogue  was  pretending  to  warm  his  hands  by  holding 
them  close  to  the  chorister's  head.  This  so  disconcerted 
the  minister,  that  it  was  some  minutes  before  he  could  go 
on  with  the  services." 

The  only  effect  of  this  was,  that  my  master  drew  down 
one  corner  of  his  mouth. 

"  I  have  heard  of  another  clergyman,"  said  the  lawyer, 
"  who  suffered  in  a  similar  way.  One  day,  in  the  very 

midst  of  his  sermon,  he  saw  Deacon  B fast  asleep, 

his  head  leaning  back  on  the  rail  of  the  pew,  and  his 
mouth  wide  open.  ^.  young  fellow  in  the  gallery  above, 
directly  over  him,  took  a  quid  of  tobacco  from  his  mouth, 
and  taking  a  careful  aim,  let  it  drop  plump  into  the  dea 
con's  mouth.  The  latter  started  from  his  sleep,  and  went 
through  a  terrible  paroxysm  of  fright  and  choking  before 
he  recovered." 

Mr.  Cooke  bit  his  lip,  but  was  silent.  Lawyer  Hatch, 
although  he  pretended  to  be  all  the  while  looking  into 

•o* 


114  PETER     PARLEY'S 

the  fire,  got  a  quick  side-glance  at  the  face  of  his  auditor, 
and  continued, — 

"  You  know  the  Rev.  Dr.  B ,  sir  ?  Well,  one  day 

he  told  me,  that  as  he  was  on  his  way  to  New  Haven  he 
came  to  the  house  of  one  of  his  former  parishioners,  who, 
some  years  before,  had  removed  to  that  place.  As  he 
was  about  to  pass  it,  he  remembered  that  this  person  had 
died  recently,  and  he  thought  it  meet  and  proper  to  stop 
and  condole  with  the  widow.  She  met  him  very  cheer 
fully,  and  they  had  some  pleasant  chat  together. 

" '  Madam,'  said  he,  after  a  time,  '  it  is  a  painful  sub 
ject — but  you  have  recently  met  with  a  severe  loss.' 

"She  instantly  applied  her  apron  to  her  eyes,  and 
said, — 

"  Oh  yes,  doctor ;  there's  no  telling  how  I  feel.' 

" '  It  is  indeed  a  great  bereavement  you  have  suffered.' 

"  *  Yes,  doctor ;  very  great,  indeed.' 

"  *  I  hope  you  bear  it  with  submission  ?' 

"  *  I  try  tu ;  but  oh,  doctor,  I  sometimes  feel  in  my 
heart — Goosy,  goosy  gander,  where  shall  I  wander?'" 

The  lawyer  glanced  at  the  object  of  his  attack,  and 
seeming  to  see  a  small  breach  in  the  wall,  he  thought  it 
time  to  bring  up  his  heavy  guns.  He  went  on, — 

"  There's  another  story  about  this  same  Dr.  B , 

•which  is  amusing.  Some  years  ago  he  lost  his  wife,  and 
after  a  time  he  began  to  look  out  for  another.  At  last 
he  fixed  his  mind  upon  a  respectable  lady  in  a  neighbor 
ing  town,  and  commenced  paying  her  his  addresses. 
This  naturally  absorbed  much  of  his  time  and  attention, 
and  his  parish  became  dissatisfied.  The  deacons  of  the 
church  held  several  conferences  on  the  subject,  and  it 
was  finally  agreed  that  Deacon  Becket,  who  had  the 
grace  of  smooth  speech,  should  give  the  Reverend  Doctor 


OWN      STORY  .  115 

a  Lint  of  what  they  deemed  his  fearful  backsliding.  Ac 
cordingly,  the  next  Sabbath  morning,  on  going  to  church, 
the  deacon  overtook  the  parson,  and  the  following  dia 
logue  ensued, — 

"  '  Good  morning,  Dr.  B .' 

"  '  Good  morning,  Deacon  Becket.' 

" '  Well,  Doctor,  I'm  glad  to  meet  you ;  for  I  wanted 
to  say  to  you  as  how  I  thought  of  changing  my  pew  !' 

"  '  Indeed  !     And  why  so  ?' 

" '  Well,  I'll  tell  you.  I  sit,  as  you  know,  clear  over 
the  backside  of  the  meeting-house  ;  and  between  me  and 
the  pulpit  there's  Judy  Vickar,  Molly  Warren,  Experi 
ence  Pettibone,  and  half-a-dozen  old  maids,  who  sit  with 
their  mouths  wide  open,  and  they  catch  all  the  best  of  your 
sarmon ;  and  when  it  gets  to  me,  it's  plaguy  poor  stuff !' " 

My  brother-in-law  could  hold  out  no  longer :  his  face 
was  agitated  for  a  moment  with  nervous  spasms ;  and 
then,  bending  forward,  he  burst  into  a  round,  hearty 
laugh.  The  lawyer — who  made  it  a  point  never  to 
smile  at  his  own  jokes — still  had  a  look  upon  his  face 
as  much  as  to  say,  "  Well,  sir,  I  thought  I  should  get  my 
case." 

It  may  be  easily  imagined  that  I  was  greatly  interested 
by  these  conversations  and  discussions ;  and  always  felt 
not  a  little  annoyed,  if  perchance,  as  sometimes  hap 
pened,  I  was  called  away  in  the  midst  of  a  good  story, 
or  a  keen  debate,  to  supply  a  customer  with  a  gallon  of 
treacle,  or  a  paper  of  pins.  I  know  not  if  this  disgusted 
me  with  my  trade ;  but  it  is  very  certain  that  I  con 
ceived  for  it  a  great  dislike,  nearly  from  the  beginning. 
Never,  so  far  as  I  can  recollect,  did  I  for  one  moment 
enter  heartily  into  its  spirit.  I  was  always,  while  I  con- 
tinued  in  it,  a  mere  servile  laborer ;  doing  my  duty,  per- 


116         PETER     PARLEY'S     OWN      STORY. 

haps,  yet  with  a  languid  and  reluctant  heart.  However, 
I  got  through  the  winter;  and  when  the  summer  came, 
Mr.  Cooke  nearly  gave  up  personal  attention  to  business 
in  consequence  of  ill  health ;  and  we  had  a  new  clerk, 
who  was  older  than  myself,  and  took  the  responsible 
charge  of  the  establishment.  He  was  an  excellent  mer 
chant,  and  to  me  was  a  kind  and  indulgent  friend.  He 
afterwards  settled  in  Troy,  where  he  is  still  living,  in  the 
enjoyment  of  an  ample  fortune,  and  in  excellent  reputa 
tion  as  a  father,  friend,  Christian,  and  neighbor;  the 
natural  fruit  of  good  sense,  good  temper,  and  good  con 
duct. 


CHAPTEK   X. 

jntW     HAVEN — DISTINGUISHED     MEN — WHITNEY'S     COTTON-GIN — DURHAM — 1ft 

GRANDMOTHER'S   INDIAN   PUDDINGS— IN  SEARCH  OF  A  DOCTOR — RETURN 
TO  DANBURY — THE  COLD  FRIDAY — FACTORY  WORKMEN — MATHEMATICS. 

IN  the  summer  of  1809  I  made  a  short  tour  with  my 
brother-in-law  and  my  sister,  for  the  health  of  the  former. 
This,  to  me,  was  a  grand  expedition  ;  for  among  other 
places  we  visited  was  New  Haven,  then  a  sort  of  Jerusa 
lem  in  my  imagination ;  a  holy  place  containing  Yale 
College,  of  which  Dr.  Dwight  was  president.  Besides 
all  this,  one  of  my  uncles  and  some  of  my  cousins  lived 
there ;  and,  better  still,  my  brother  was  there,  and  then 
a  member  of  the  college.  Ah,  how  my  heart  beat  when 
we  set  out !  Such  was  the  vividness  of  my  perceptions, 
that  I  could  fill  a  book  with  recollections  of  that  short, 
simple  journey ;  the  whole  circuit  not  exceeding  one 
hundred  and  twenty  miles. 

I  was  duly  impressed  with  the  beauty  of  New  Haven  ; 
for  then,  as  now,  it  was  celebrated  for  a  rare  union  of 
rural  freshness  and  city  elegance.  I  have  recently,  in 
passing  through  it,  had  a  transient  view  of  its  appear 
ance ;  and  may  safely  affirm  that,  after  pretty  large  ob 
servation  in  the  Old  World  as  well  as  in  the  New,  I 
know  of  no  town  or  city  more  inviting ;  especially  to 
one  whose  judgment  is  cultivated  by  observation  and 
study,  and  whose  feelings  are  chastened  by  reflection  and 


118  PETER     PARLEY'S 

experience.  There  is  something  of  the  activity  and 
bustle  of  commerce  in  a  part  of  the  town,  and  at  one 
point,  all  the  spasm  of  a  railway  station.  In  other  por 
tions  of  the  place,  and  over  three-fourths  of  its  area, 
there  is  the  quietude  and  repose  proper  to  a  seat  of  learn 
ing.  Here  the  houses  seem  suited  to  the  city,  each  with 
a  garden  breathing  the  perfumes  of  the  country. 

At  the  period  of  the  visit  I  am  describing,  New 
Haven  had  not  one-half  its  present  population;  and  many 
of  the  institutions  which  now  adorn  it  did  not  exist.  The 
College,  however,  was  then  as  now,  a  leading  literary  insti 
tution  in  the  country.  To  me  it  was  an  object  of  special 
reverence,  as  my  grandfather  and  his  five  sons  had  all 
graduated  there.  My  brother  and  two  of  my  cousins 
were  at  this  time  among  its  inmates.  Of  course,  I  look 
ed  with  intense  curiosity  at  the  several  buildings  that  be 
longed  to  it.  Many  things  here  excited  my  admiration. 
I  looked  with  particular  interest — I  may  add,  with  some 
degree  of  envy — at  the  students,  who  seemed  to  me  the 
privileged  sons  of  the  earth.  Several  were  pointed  out 
as  promising  to  be  the  master-spirits  of  their  age  and 
generation  ;  in  some  cases,  I  have  since  seen  these  antici 
pations  fulfilled. 

Next  to  the  College  I  visited  the  Bay,  and  for  the  first 
time  actually  stood  upon  the  shore  of  that  living  sea 
which,  through  my  whole  childhood,  had  spread  its  blue 
bosom  before  me  in  the  distant  horizon.  A  party  of 
three  or  four  of  us  took  a  boat,  and  went  down  toward 
the  entrance  of  the  Bay,  landing  on  the  eastern  side. 
From  this  point  the  view  was  enchanting  ;  it  was  a  soft 
summer  afternoon,  and  the  sea  only  breathed  upon  by 
light  puffs  of  wind  that  came  from  the  west.  I  looked 
long,  and  with  a  species  of  entrancement,  at  its  heaving 


FIRST    ADVEXTVKK    ON    II IK    SKA. 


P.   110. 


OWN      STORY.  119 

and  swelling  surface :  I  ran  my  eye  far  away,  till  it  met 
the  line  where  sky  and  wave  are  blended  together :  I  fol 
lowed  the  lulling  surf  as  it  broke,  curling  and  winding, 
among  the  mimic  bays  of  the  rocky  shore.  It  was  a 
spectacle,  not  only  full  of  beauty  in  itself,  but  to  me  it 
was  a  revelation  and  a  fulfilment  of  the  thousand  half- 
formed  fancies  which  had  been  struggling  in  my  longing 
bosom  from  very  childhood. 

Our  party  was  so  occupied  with  our  contemplations, 
that  we  had  scarcely  noticed  a  thunder-storm,  which  now 
approached  and  menaced  us  from  the  west.  We  set  out 
to  return,  but  before  we  had  got  half  across  the  Bay  it 
broke  full  upon  us.  The  change  in  the  aspect  of  the  sea 
was  fearful :  all  its  gentleness  was  gone  ;  and  now,  black 
and  scowling,  it  seemed  as  if  agitated  by  a  demon, 
threatening  everything  with  destruction  that  came  within 
its  scope.  By(a  severe  struggle  we  succeeded  in  reach 
ing  Long  Walk,  though  not  without  risk. 

While  staying  at  New  Haven,  I  met  many  distinguish 
ed  men ;  as  the  house  of  my  uncle,  Elizur  Goodrich,  was 
frequented  by  all  th'e  celebrities  of  the  place.  Among 
these  was  Eli  Whitney,  the  inventor  of  the  cotton-gin,  a 
machine  for  combing  out  the  seeds  from  the  cotton  in  its 
raw  state,  to  which  America  may  almost  be  said  to  owe 
her  cotton  trade.  Whitney's  first  gin  was  made  in  1793, 
at  which  time  almost  the  whole  of  our  raw  material  was 
imported.  The  results  of  his  invention  may  be  estimated 
by  the  fact,  that  while  in  1789  only  one  million  pounds 
of  cotton  were  produced  in  the  United  States,  the  pro 
duct  of  the  year  1855  exceeded  fourteen  hundred  mil 
lions  ! 

We  saw  the  original  model  of  Mr.  Whitney's  gin  at 
his  gun-factory,  which  was  situated  in  a  wild,  romantic 


120  I  PETER     PARLEY'S 

spot,  near  the  foot  of  East  Rock,  and  about  two  miles 
distant  from  New  Haven. 

Having  spent  about  a  week  at  New  Haven,  we  pro 
ceeded  to  Durham,  an  old-fashioned,  sleepy  town,  of  a 
thousand  inhabitants.  It  is  chiefly  remarkable  for  the 
distinguished  men  it  has  produced — the  Chaunceys,  cele 
brated  in  the  annals  of  New  England,  and,  I  may  add,  in 
those  of  the  country  at  large ;  the  Wadsworths,  no  less 
noted  in  various  commanding  stations,  military  and  civil, 
public  and  private  ;  the  Lymans,  renowned  in  the  battle 
field,  the  college,  the  pulpit,  and  the  senate  ;  the  Austins 
— father  and  son — to  whose  talent  and  enterprise  Texas 
owes  her  position  as  a  member  of  the  Union. 

To  this  list  of  remarkable  names,  I  trust  I  may  add 
that  of  the  Goodriches,  without  the  imputation  of  egotism, 
for  historical  justice  demands  it.  At  the  time  I  visited 
the  place,  nearly  all  the  family  had  long  since  left  it. 
My  grandfather,  Dr.  Goodrich,  died  in  1797,  but  my 
grandmother  was  living,  as  well  as  her  daughter,  Mrs. 
Smith,  wife  of  Rev.  David  Smith,  the  clergyman  of  the 
place,  who  had  succeeded  to  my  grandfather's  pulpit. 

I  trust  I  have  all  due  respect  for  my  paternal  grand 
mother,  who  has  already,  by  the  way,  been  introduced  to 
your  notice.  She  was  now  quite  lame,  but  active, 
energetic,  and  alive  to  everything  that  was  passing.  She 
welcomed  me  heartily,  and  took  the  best  care  of  me  in 
the  world,  lavishing  upon  me,  without  stint,  all  the 
treasures  of  her  abundant  larder.  As  to  her  Indian 
puddings— alas,  I  shall  never  see  their  like  again !  A 
comfortable  old  body  she  was  in  all  things,  and,  as  I  have 
before  remarked,  took  a  special  interest  in  the  welfare  of 
the  generation  of  descendants  rising  up  around  her. 


OWN     STOKT.  121 

When  she  saw  me  eating  with  a  good  appetite,  her 
benignant  grandmotherly  face  beamed  like  a  lantern. 

As  to  my  uncle  and  aunt  Smitb,  I  may  remark  that 
they  were  plain,  pious  people,  the  former  worthily  filling 
the  pulpit  of  my  grandfather,  and  enjoying  a  high  degree 
of  respect,  alike  from  his  position  and  character.  Besides 
attending  to  his  parochial  duties,  he  prepared  young  men 
for  college.  Among  his  pupils  were  several  persons  who 
attained  distinction.  As  a  man,  he  was  distinguished  for 
his  cheerful,  frank,  friendly  manners:  as  a  preacher,  he 
was  practical,  sincere,  and  successful.  I  must  mention  a 
story  of  him,  among  my  pulpit  anecdotes.  As  some 
times  happens,  in  a  congregation  of  farmers  during  mid 
summer,  it  once  chanced  that  a  large  number  of  his  peo 
ple,  even  the  deacons  in  the  sacramental  seat,  fell  asleep 
in  the  very  midst  of  the  sermon.  The  minister  looked 
around,  and  just  at  this  moment,  the  only  person  who 
seemed  quite  awake  was  his  eldest  son,  David,  sitting  in 
the  pew  by  the  side  of  the  pulpit.  Pausing  a  moment, 
and  looking  down  upon  his  son,  he  exclaimed,  in  a 
powerful  voice  : 

"  David,  wake  up  !" 

In  a  moment  the  whole  congregation  roused  them 
selves,  and  long  did  they  remember  the  rebuke. 

During  our  stay  at  Durham,  my  brother-in-law  was  so 
ill  as  to  need  the  advice  of  a  skilful  physician.  Accord 
ingly,  I  was  dispatched  on  horseback  to  Middletown,  a 

distance  of  eight  or  ten  miles,  for  Dr.  O ,  then 

famous  in  all  the  country  round  about.  On  my  way  I 
met  a  man  of  weatherbeaten  complexion  and  threadbare 
garments,  mounted  on  a  lean  and  jaded  mare.  Beneath 
him  was  a  pair  of  plump  saddlebags.  He  had  all  the 
marks  of  a  doctor,  for  then  men  of  his  profession  traversed 


122  PETER      PARLEY'S 

the  country  on  horseback,  carrying  with  them  a  collection 
of  pills,  powders,  and  elixirs,  equivalent  to  an  apothe 
cary's  shop.  Instinct  told  me  that  he  was  my  man.  As 
I  was  about  to  pass  him  I  drew  in  my  breath,  to  ask  if 

he  were  Dr.  O ,  but  a  sudden  bashfulness  seized  me  : 

the  propitious  moment  passed,  and  I  went  on. 

On  arriving  at  the  house  of  Dr.  O ,  I  learned  that 

he  had  gone  to  the  village  in  the  south-western  part  of 
the  town,  six  or  eight  miles  off.  "  There !"  said  I  to 
myself,  "  I  knew  it  was  he :  if  I  had  only  spoken  to 
him  !"  However,  reflection  was  vain.  I  followed  to  the 
designated  spot,  and  there  I  found  that  he  had  left  about 
half  an  hour  before,  for  another  village  in  the  central 
part  of  the  town.  I  gave  chase,  but  he  was  too  quick 
for  me,  so  that  I  was  obliged  to  return  to  Durham  with 
out  him.  "  Ah  !"  I  thought,  "  how  much  trouble  a  little 
courage  would  have  saved  me "'  In  fact,  'I  took  the 
incident  to  heart,  and  have  often  practised  to  advantage 
upon  the  lesson  it  suggested ;  which  is,  Never  to  let  a 
doctor,  or  anything  else,  slip,  for  the  want  of  asking  an 
opportune  question. 

At  length  we  departed  from  Durham,  and  took  our 
way  homeward,  through  a  series  of  small  towns,  arriving 
at  last  at  Woodbury.  The  week  of  our  sojourn  here  flew 
on  golden  wings  with  me.  The  village  itself  was  after 
my  own  heart.  It  lies  in  a  small  tranquil  valley,  its 
western  boundary  consisting  of  a  succession  of  gentle 
acclivities,  covered  with  forests;  that  on  the  east  is 
formed  of  basaltic  ledges,  broken  into  wild  and  pictur 
esque  forms,  rising  sharp  and  hard  against  the  horizon. 
Through  the  valley,  in  long  serpentine  sweeps,  flows  a 
stream,  clear  and  bright,  now  dashing  and  now  saunter 
ing  ;  here  presenting  a  rapid,  and  there  a  glassy  pool. 


OWN      STORY.  123 

In  ancient  times  it  was  bordered  by  cities  of  the  beaver ; 
it  was  now  the  haunt  of  a  few  isolated  and  persecuted 
muskrats.  In  the  spring  and  autumn,  the  wild  ducks,  in 
their  migrations,  often  stooped  to  its  bosom  for  a  night's 
lodging.  At  all  seasons  it  was  renowned  for  its  trout. 
In  former  ages,  when  the  rivers,  protected  by  the  deep 
forests,  ran  full  to  the  brim,  and  when  the  larger  streams 
were  filled  to  repletion  with  shad  and  salmon,  this  was 
sometimes  visited  by  enterprising  individuals  of  their 
race,  which  shot  up  cataracts,  and  leaped  over  obstruct 
ing  rocks,  roots,  and  mounds,  impelled  by  instinct  to  seek 
places  remote  from  the  sea,  where  they  might  deposit 
their  spawn  in  safety.  In  those  days,  I  imagine,  the 
accidents  and  incidents  of  shad  and  salmon  life  often 
rivalled  the  adventurous  annals  of  Marco  Polo  or  Robin 
son  Crusoe. 

There  was  about  this  little  village  a  singular  union  of 
refinement  and  rusticity,  of  cultivated  plain  and  steepling 
rock,  of  blooming  meadow  and  dusky  forest.  The  long, 
wide  street,  saving  the  highway  and  a  few  stray  paths  here 
and  there,  was  a  bright,  grassy  lawn,  decorated  with  abun 
dance  of  sugar-maples,  which  appeared  to  have  found  their 
Paradise.  Such  is  the  shape  of  the  encircling  hills  and 
ledges  that  the  site  of  the  village  seemed  a  sort  of 
secluded  Happy  Valley,  where  everything  turns  to  poetry 
and  romance.  And  this  aptitude  is  abundantly  encour 
aged  by  history  ;  for  here  was  once  the  favored  home  of 
a  tribe  of  Indians.  All  around — the  rivers,  the  hills,  the 
forests — are  still  rife  with  legends  and  remembrances  of 
the  olden  time.  A  rocky  mound,  rising  above  the  river 
on  one  side,  and  dark  forests  on  the  other,  bears  the 
name  of  "  Pomperaug's  Castle ;"  a  little  to  the  north, 
near  a  bridle-path  that  traversed  the  meadows,  was  a 


124  PETER     PARLEY'S 

heap  of  stones,  called  "  Pomperaug's  Grave."  To  the 
east  I  found  a  wild  ledge,  called  "  Bethel  Rock."  And 
each  of  these  objects  has  its  story. 

It  was  a  great  time,  that  happy  week — for  let  it  be  re 
membered  that  for  a  whole  year  I  had  been  imprisoned 
in  a  country  store.  What  melody  was  there  in  the  forest 
echoes  then !  Ah !  I  have  since  heard  Catalani,  and 
Garcia,  and  Pasta,  and  Sontag,  and  Grisi ;  I  have  even 
heard  "  the  Swedish  Nightingale ;"  nay,  in  France  and 
Italy — the  very  home  of  music  and  song — I  have  listened 
to  the  true  nightingale,  which  has  given  to  Jenny  Liiid 
her  sweetest  and  most  appropriate  epithet ;  but  never,  in 
one  or  all,  have  I  heard  such  music  as  filled  my  ears  that 
incense-breathing  morn,  when  I  made  a  foray  into  the 
wilds  of  Woodbury ! 

We  returned  to  Danbury  after  a  tour  of  some  five  or 
six  weeks.  The  succeeding  autumn  and  winter  presented 
no  peculiar  incident — with  a  single  exception.  There 
was,  if  I  rightly  remember,  in  the  month  of  February,  a 
certain  "  cold  Friday,"  which  passed  down  to  succeeding 
generations  as  among  the  marvels  of  the  time.  It  had 
snowed  heavily  for  three  days,  and  the  ground  was 
covered  three  feet  deep.  A  driving  wind  from  the  north 
east  then  set  in,  and  growing  colder  and  colder,  it  be 
came  at  last  so  severe  as  to  force  everybody  to  shelter. 
This  continued  for  two  days,  the  whole  air  being  filled 
with  sleet,  so  that  the  sun,  without  a  cloud  in  the  sky, 
shone  dim  and  grey  as  through  a  fog.  The  third  day 
the  wind  increased,  both  in  force  and  intensity  of  cold. 
Horses,  cattle,  fowls,  sheep,  perished  in  their  coverings. 
The  roads  were  blocked  up  with  enormous  drifts ;  the 
mails  were  stopped,  travelling  was  suspended  ;  the  world, 


TUB    COLD    FRIDAY. 


P.  116. 


OWN      8TORT.  125 

indeed,  seemed  paralyzed,  and  the  circulation  of  life  to 
be  arrested. 

On  the  morning  of  this  third  day,  which  was  the 
ominous  and  famous  Friday,  word  was  brought  to  my 
sister  that  a  poor  family,  about  two  miles  off,  to  whom 
she  had  long  been  a  kind  friend,  was  in  danger  of  starva 
tion.  She  knew  no  fear,  and  tolerated  no  weakness.  A 
thing  that  ought  to  be  done,  was  to  be  done.  Therefore, 
a  sack  was  filled  with  bread,  meat,  candles,  and  a  pint 
of  rum :  this  was  lashed  around  my  waist.  The  horse 
was  brought  to  the  door — I  mounted  and  set  off.  I 
knew  the  animal  well,  and  we  had  enjoyed  many  a 
scamper  together.  He  was,  indeed,  after  my  own  heart 
— clean  limbed,  with  full,  knowing  eyes,  and  small,  point 
ed  sensitive  ears.  He  had  a  cheerful  walk,  a  fleet,  skim 
ming  trot,  a  swift  gallop,  and  all  these  paces  we  had  often 
tried.  I  think  he  knew  who  was  on  his.  back ;  but  when 
we  got  to  the  turning  of  the  road,  which  brought  his 
nostrils  into  the  very  tunnel  of  the  gale,  he  snorted, 
whirled  backward,  and  seemed  resolved  to  return.  I, 
however,  brought  him  steady  to  his  work,  gave  him 
sharp  advice  in  the  ribs,  and  showed  him  that  I  was  re 
solved  to  be  master.  Hesitating  a  moment,  as  if  in 
loubt  whether  I  could  be  in  earnest,  he  started  forward  ; 
7et  so  keen  was  the  blast,  that  he  turned  aside  his  head, 
ind  screamed  as  if  his  nostrils  were  pierced  with  hot 
ron.  On  he  went,  however,  in  some  instances  up  to  the 
addle  in  the  drift,  yet  clearing  it  at  full  bounds. 

In  a  few  minutes  we  were  at  the  door  of  the  miserable 
iut,  now  half  buried  in  a  snow-drift.  I  was  just  in  time. 
Tie  wretched  inmates — a  mother  and  three  small  chil- 
.ren — without  fire,  without  food,  without  help  or  hope, 
'ere  in  bed,  poorly  clothed,  and  only  keeping  life  in 


126  PETER     PARLEY'S 

their  bodies  by  a  mutual  cherishing  of  warmth,  like  pigs 
or  puppies  in  a  similar  extremity.  The  scene  within  was 
dismal  in  the  extreme.  The  fireplace  was  choked  with 
snow,  which  had  fallen  down  the  chimney :  the  ill-ad 
justed  doors  and  windows  admitted  alike  the  drift  and 
the  blast,  both  of  which  swept  across  the  room  in  cutting 
currents.  As  I  entered,  the  pale,  haggard  mother  com 
prehend  at  a  glance  that  relief  had  come,  burst  into  a 
flood  of  tears.  I  had  no  time  for  words.  I  threw  them 
the  sack,  remounted  my  horse,  and,  the  wind  at  my  back, 
I  flew  home.  One  of  my  ears  was  a  little  frost-bitten, 
and  occasionally,  for  years  after,  a  tingling  and  itching 
sensation  there  reminded  me  of  my  ride ;  which,  after 
all,  left  an  agreeable  remembrance  upon  my  mind. 

Danbury  is  a  handsome  town,  chiefly  built  on  a  long, 
wide  street,  crossed  near  the  northern  extremity  by  a 
small  river,  a  branch  of  the  Housatonic,  which,  having 
numerous  rapids,  affords  abundance  of  mill-sites  in  its 
course.  At  this  crossing  there  were  two  extensive  hat- 
factories,  famous  over  the  whole  country. 

Nearly  all  the  workmen  in  these  establishments,  of 
whom  there  were  several  hundred  at  the  time  I  am  de 
scribing,  were  foreigners,  mostly  English  and  Irish.  A 
large  part  of  the  business  of  our  store  was  the  furnishing 
of  rum  to  these  poor  wretches,  who  bought  one  or  two 
quarts  on  Saturday  night  and  drank  till  Monday,  and 
frequently  till  Tuesday.  A  factory  -workman  of  those 
days  was  thought  to  be  born  to  toil,  and  to  get  drunk. 
Philanthropy  itself  had  not  then  lifted  its  eye  or  its 
hopes  above  this  hideous  malaria  of  custom.  It  is  a 
modern  discovery  that  manufacturing  towns  may  rise  up, 
where  comfort,  education,  morals,  and  religion,  in  their 


OWN     STORY.  127 

best  and  happiest  exercise,  may  be  possessed  by  the  toil 
ing  masses. 

A  tew  words  more,  and  I  have  done  with  Danbnry. 
The  health  of  my  brother-in-law  gradually  failed,  and  at 
last,  as  winter  approached,  he  took  to  his  room,  and 
finally  to  his  bed.  By  almost  insensible  degrees,  and 
with  singular  tranquillity  of  mind  and  body,  he  approach 
ed  his  end.  It  was  a  trait  of  his  character  to  believe 
nothing,  to  do  nothing,  by  halves.  Having  founded  his 
faith  on  Christ,  Christianity  was  now,  in  its  duties,  its 
promises,  and  its  anticipations,  as  real  as  life  itself.  He 
was  afflicted  with  no  doubts,  no  fears.  With  his  mind  in 
full  vigor,  his  strong  intellect  vividly  awake,  he  was 
ready  to  enter  into  the  presence  of  his  God.  The  hour 
came.  He  had  taken  leave  of  his  friends,  and  then,  feel 
ing  a  sense  of  repose,  he  asked  to  be  left  alone.  They 
all  departed  save  one,  who  sat  apart,  listening  to  every 
breath.  In  a  few  moments  she  came  and  found  him 
asleep,  but  it  was  the  sleep  that  knows  no  waking ! 

I  continued  in  the  store  alone  for  several  months,  sell 
ing  out  the  goods,  and  closing  up  the  affairs  of  the  estate. 
I  had  now  a  good  deal  of  time  to  myself,  and  thumbed 
over  several  books,  completing  my  reading  of  Shaks- 
peare,  to  which  I  have  already  alluded.  It  happened 
that  we  had  a  neighbor  over  the  way,  a  good-natured, 
chatty  old  gentleman,  by  the  name  of  Ebenezer  White. 
He  had  been  a  teacher,  and  had  a  great  taste  for  mathe 
matics.  In  those  days  it  was  the  custom  for  the  news 
papers  to  publish  mathematical  questions,  and  to  invite 
their  solution.  Master  White  was  sure  to  give  the  an 
swer  first.  In  fact,  his  genius  for  mathematics  was  so 
large,  that  it  left  rather  a  moderate  space  in  his  brain  for 
common  sense.  He  was,  however,  full  of  good  feeling, 


128          PETER     PARLEY'S     OWN      STORY. 

and  was  now  entirely  at  leisure.  Indeed,  time  hung 
heavy  on  his  hands,  so  he  made  me  frequent  visits,  and 
in  fact  lounged  away  an  hour  or  two  of  almost  every 
day  at  the  store.  I  became  at  last  interested  in  mathe 
matics,  and  under  his  good-natured  and  gratuitous  lessons 
I  learned  something  of  geometry  and  trigonometry,  and 
thus  passed  on  to  surveying  and  navigation.  This  was 
the  first  drop  of  real  science  that  I  ever  tasted — I  might 
almost  say  the  last,  for  though  I  have  since  skimmed  a 
good  many  books,  I  feel  that  I  have  really  mastered 
almost  nothing. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

AKBIVAL   AT   HARTFORD MT  OCCUPATION  THERE — RESTLESSNESS — XT 

FBIEND    GEOBGE     SHELDON. 

I  NOW  enter  upon  a  new  era  in  my  life.  Early  in  the 
summer  of  1811,  I  took  leave  of  Danbury,  and  went  to 
Hartford.  On  my  arrival  there,  I  was  installed  in  the 

dry-goods  store  of  C.  B.  K ,  my  father  having  made 

the  arrangement  some  weeks  before. 

My  master  had  no  aptitude  for  business,  and  spent 
much  of  his  time  away,  leaving  the  affairs  of  the  shop  to 
an  old  clerk,  by  the  name  of  Jones,  and  to  me.  Things 
went  rather  badly,  and  he  sought  to  mend  his  fortune  by 
speculation  in  Merino  sheep — then  the  rage  of  the  day. 
A  ram  sold  for  a  thousand  dollars,  and  a  ewe  for  a  hun 
dred.  Fortunes  were  made  and  lost  in  a  day  during  this 
mania.  My  master,  after  buying  a  flock  and  driving  it  to 
Vermont,  where  he  spent  three  months,  came  back  pretty 
well  shorn — that  is,  three  thousand  dollars  out  of  pocket ! 
This  soon  brought  his  affairs  to  a  crisis,  and  so  in  the 
autumn  I  was  transferred  to  the  dry-goods  store  of  J.  B. 
H . 

My  new  employer  had  neither  wife  nor  child  to  take 
up  his  time,  so  he  devoted  himself  sedulously  to  business. 
He  was,  indeed,  made  for  it — elastic  in  his  frame,  quick- 
uinded,  of  even  temper,  and  assiduous  politeness.  He 
?as  already  well  established,  and  things  marched  along 


130  PETER     PARLEY'S 

as  if  by  rail.  For  a  time  we  had  another  clerk,  but  he 
was  soon  dismissed,  and  I  was  the  only  assistant;  my 
master,  however,  seldom  leaving  the  shop  during  business 
hours.  Had  the  capacity  for  trade  been  in  me,  I  might 
now  have  learned  my  business.  I  think  I  may  say  that 
I  fulfilled  my  duty,  at  least  in  form.  I  was  regular  in  my 
hours,  kept  the  books  duly  journalized  and  posted.  I 
never  consciously  wronged  arithmetic  to  the  amount  of 
a  farthing.  I  duly  performed  my  task  at  the  counter. 
Yet,  in  all  this  I  was  a  slave  :  my  heart  was  not  in  my 
work.  My  mind  was  away  ;  I  dreamed  of  other  things  ; 
I  thought  of  other  pursuits. 

And  yet  I  scarcely  knew  all  this.  I  had  certainly  no 
definite  plan  for  the  future.  A  thousand  things  floated 
before  my  imagination.  Every  book  I  read  drew  me 
aside  into  its  own  vortex.  Poetry  made  me  poetical ; 
politics  made  me  political ;  travels  made  me  truant.  I 
was  restless,  for  I  was  in  a  wrong  position  ;  yet  I  asked 
no  advice,  for  I  did  not  know  that  I  needed  it.  My  head 
and  heart  were  a  hive  of  thoughts  and  feelings,  without 
the  regulating  and  sedative  supremacy  of  a  clear  and 
controlling  intelligence. 

I  was  then  eighteen  years  of  age.  I  had  been  suf 
ficiently  educated  for  my  station.  My  parents  had  now 
removed  from  Ridgefield  to  Berlin,  a  distance  of  but 
eleven  miles  from  my  present  residence,  so  that  I  had 
easy  and  frequent  communication  with  them.  My  uncle, 
Chauncey  Goodrich,  then  a  Senator  of  the  United  States, 
lived  in  an  almost  contiguous  street,  and  while  in  the 
city,  always  treated  me  with  the  kindness  and  considera 
tion  which  my  relationship  to  him  naturally  dictated.  In 
general,  then,  my  situation  was  eligible  enough ;  and  yet 
I  was  unhappy. 


OWN     STORY.  131 

The  truth  is,  I  had  now  been  able  to  sit  in  judgment 
npon  myself — to  review  my  acquirements,  to  analyze  my 
capacities,  to  estimate  my  character,  to  compare  myself 
with  others,  and  to  see  a  little  into  the  future.  The 
decision  was  painful  to  my  ambition.  I  had  all  along, 
unconsciously,  cherished  a  vague  idea  of  some  sort  of 
eminence,  and  this,  unhappily,  had  nothing  to  do  with 
selling  goods  or  making  money.  I  had  lived  in  the 
midst  of  relations,  friends,  and  alliances,  all  of  which  had 
cultivated  in  me  trains  of  thought  alien  to  my  present 
employment.  My  connections  were  respectable — some 
of  them  eminent,  but  none  of  them  rich.  All  had  ac 
quired  their  positions  without  wealth,  and  I  think  it  was 
rather  their  habit  to  speak  of  it  as  a  very  secondary 
affair.  Brought  up  under  such  influences,  how  could  I 
give  up  my  heart  to  trade  ?  It  was  clear,  indeed,  that  I 
had  missed  my  vocation. 

Full  of  this  conviction,  I  besought  my  parents  to  allow 
me  to  quit  the  store,  and  attempt  to  make  my  way 
through  college.  Whether  for  good  or  ill,  I  know  not, 
but  they  decided  against  the  change,  and  certainly  on 
substantial  grounds.  Their  circumstances  did  not  permit 
them  to  offer  me  any  considerable  aid,  and  without  it  they 
feared  that  I  should  meet  with  insuperable  difficulties.  I 
returned  to  the  store  disheartened  at  first,  but  after  a 
time  my  courage  revived,  and  I  resolved  to  re-educate 
myself.  I  borrowed  some  Latin  books,  and  with  the  aid 
of  George  Sheldon,  an  assistant  in  a  publisher's  estab 
lishment,  and  at  this  time  my  bosom  friend,  I  passed 
through  the  Latin  Grammar,  and  penetrated  a  little  way 
into  Virgil.  This  was  done  at  night,  for  during  the  day 
I  was  fully  occupied. 

At  the  same  time  I  began,  with  such  light  and  strength 


132  PETEE     PARLEY'S 

as  I  possessed,  to  train  my  mind,  to  discipline  my 
thoughts,  then  as  untamed  as  the  birds  of  the  wilderness. 
I  sought  to  think — to  think  steadily,  to  acquire  the 
power  of  forcing  my  understanding  up  to  a  point,  and 
make  it  stand  there  and  do  its  work.  I  attempted  to 
gain  the  habit  of  speaking  methodically,  logically,  and 
with  accumulating  power,  directed  to  a  particular  object. 
I  did  all  this  as  well  by  study  as  by  practice.  I  read 
Locke  on  the  Understanding  and  Watts  on  the  Mind.  I 
attempted  composition,  and  aided  myself  by  Blair's 
Khetoric. 

This  was  a  task ;  for  not  only  was  my  time  chiefly  oc- 
pied  by  my  daily  duties,  but  it  was  a  contest  against 
habit — it  was  myself  against  myself;  and  in  this  I  was 
almost  unaided  and  alone.  I  was  to  lay  aside  the  slip 
shod  practice  of  satisfying  myself  with  impressions,  feel 
ings,  guesses ;  in  short,  of  dodging  mental  labor  by 
jumping  at  conclusions.  I  was,  indeed,  to  learn  the 
greatest  of  all  arts,  that  of  reasoning — of  discovering  the 
truth  ;  and  I  was  to  do  this  alone,  and  in  the  face  of  diffi 
culties,  partly  founded  in  my  mental  constitution,  and 
partly  also  in  my  training. 

I  did  not  at  first  comprehend  the  extent  of  my  under 
taking.  By  degrees  I  began  to  appreciate  it :  I  saw  and 
felt,  at  last,  that  it  was  an  enormous  task,  and  even  after 
I  had  resolved  upon  it,  again  and  again  my  courage  gave 
way,  and  I  ceased  my  efforts  in  despair.  Still  I  returned 
to  the  work  by  spasms.  I  found,  for  instance,  that  my 
geography  was  all  wrong :  Asia  stood  up  edgewise  in  my 
imagination,  just  as  I  had  seen  it  on  an  old  smoky  map 
in  Lieutenant  Smith's  study ;  Africa  was  in  the  south 
east  corner  of  creation,  and  Europe  was  somewhere  in  the 
north-east.  In  fact^  my  map  of  the  world  was  very  Chi- 


OWN       STORT.  133 

nese  in  its  projection.  I  knew  better,  but  still  I  had  thus 
conceived  it,  and  the  obstinate  bump  of  locality  insisted 
upon  presenting  its  outlines  to  my  mind  according  to 
this  arrangement.  I  had  similar  jumbles  of  conception 
and  habit  as  to  other  things.  This  would  not  do  ;  so  I 
re-learned  the  elements  of  geography  ;  I  revised  my  his 
tory,  my  chronology,  my  natural  history,  in  all  of  which 
I  had  caught  casual  glimpses  of  knowledge.  What  I 
read  I  read  earnestly.  I  determined  to  pass  no  word 
without  ascertaining  its  meaning,  and  I  persevered  in 
this,  doggedly,  for  five-and-twenty  years. 

My  friend  Sheldon  was  of  inestimable  service  to  me  in 
my  studies.  Possessing  advantages  over  me  in  age,  ex 
perience,  and  education,  he  made  many  rough  places 
smooth  to  my  stumbling  feet.  Especially  when,  during 
my  early  efforts  in  thinking,  my  mind  was  assailed  with 
doubts  as  to  the  truth  of  the  Christian  religion,  his  clear 
intelligence  and  sincere  faith  did  much  to  help  me 
through  my  difficulties. 


CHAPTEK   XII. 

WAR   WITH  ENGLAND— IN  THE  ABUT — MT  TJ-XCLK'S     ADVICE CAMPAIGNING— 

ON  THE  1IARCH — OUB  MILITARY  COSTUME — MY  FIBST  SOLDIEIi's  BUFFER. 

DURING  my  residence  at  Hartford  war  was  declared 
against  Great  Britain.  For  some  time  Connecticut  held 
aloof  from  all  participation  in  the  struggle.  But  when, 
in  1813,  our  own  territory  was  threatened,  all  feeling 
vanished  before  the  instinct  of  self-preservation,  and  the 
strong  feeling  of  animosity  which  then  raged  against 
England.  Anticipating  this  state  of  things,  the  state 
government  had  made  preparations  for  the  emergency. 

As  it  was  midsummer — a  period  when  the  husbandmen 
could  ill  afford  to  leave  their  farms — orders  were  sent  by 
Governor  Smith  to  dispatch  at  once  the  companies  of 
militia  from  the  larger  towns  to  the  defence  of  New  Lon 
don  and  the  neighboring  country.  At  that  time  I  be 
longed  to  an  artillery  company,  and  this  was  among  those 
ordered  to  the  coast.  I  received  a  summons  at  four 
o'clock  in  the  afternoon  to  be  ready  to  march  next  day 
at  sunrise.  I  went  at  once  to  consult  my  uncle — who, 
by  the  way,  was  at  that  time  not  only  mayor  of  the 
city,  but  Lieutenant-Governor  of  the  State.  He  had  a 
short  time  before  promised  to  make  me  one  of  his  aids, 
and  perhaps  thought  I  should  expect  him  now  to  fulfill 
his  engagement.  He  soon  set  that  matter  at  rest. 

"  You    must,   of   course,   go,"   said   he.      "  We   old 


PETER     PARLEY'S     OWN     STORY.         135 

federalists  cannot  shelter  our  nephews  when  there  is  a 
question  of  defending  our  own  territory." 

"  Ought  I  not  to  consult  my  parents  3"  said  I. 

"  I  will  go  down  and  see  them  to-morrow,"  he  replied. 

"Certainly,  then,  I  shall  go.  I  wish  to  go.  My  only 
feeling  is,  that  my  mother  may  have  some  anxiety." 

"  I  will  see  her  to-morrow.  You  may  be  at  ease  on 
that  subject.  Be  ready  to  march  at  sunrise,  according 
to  your  orders.  I  will  come  and  see  you  before  you 
start." 

The  next  morning,  while  it  was  yet  dark,  he  came,  gave 
me  some  letters  of  introduction,  and  also  supplied  me 
with  ten  dollars — a  welcome  addition  to  my  light  purse. 
After  a  little  advice  he  said, — "  I  have  only  one  thing  to 
add :  If  you  come  to  a  fight,  don't  run  away  till  the  rest 
do.  Goodby  I" 

The  next  morning,  June  7,  1813,  about  sunrise,  the 
whole  company,  nearly  sixty  in  number,  mounted  in 
wagons,  departed.  At  sunset  we  were  on  the  heights 
two  miles  back  of  New  London.  No  provision  had  been 
made  for  us,  and  so  we  went  supperless  to  bed  in  a  large 
empty  barn.  I  scarcely  closed  my  eyes,  partly  because 
it  was  my  first  experiment  in  sleeping  on  the  floor,  and 
partly  because  of  the  terrific  snoring  of  a  fellow-soldier 
by  my  side.  Never  have  I  heard  such  a  succession  of 
choking,  suffocating,  strangling  sounds,  as  issued  from 
his  throat.  I  expected  that  he  would  die,  and,  indeed, 
once  or  twice  I  thought  he  was  dead.  Strange  to  say, 
he  got  up  the  next  morning  in  excellent  condition,  and 
seemed,  indeed,  to  feel  better  for  the  exercise.  This  man 
became  quite  a  character  before  the  campaign  was  over  : 
he  got  the  title,  of  JEolus,  and  as  he  could  not  be  tolerated 
in  the  barracks,  he  was  provided  with  a  tent  at  a  good 


136  PETER     PARLEY'S 

distance,  where  he  blew  his  blast  without  restraint.  At 
the  close  of  the  campaign  he  was  the  fattest  man  in  the 
company. 

I  was  glad  to  see  the  daylight.  The  weather  was  fine, 
and  as  the  sun  came  up  we  saw  the  British  fleet — some 
half-dozen  large  ships  of  war — lying  off  the  mouth  of 
the  Thames.  They  seemed  very  near  at  hand,  and  for 
the  first  time  I  realized  my  situation — that  of  a  soldier 
who  was  likely  soon  to  be  engaged  in  battle.  I  said 
nothing  of  my  emotions  :  indeed,  words  were  unneces 
sary.  I  watched  the  countenances  of  my  companions  as 
they  first  caught  a  view  of  the  black  and  portentous 
squadron,  and  I  read  in  almost  every  face  a  reflection  of 
my  own-  feelings.  We  were,  however,  not  all  sentimen 
talists.  There  were  among  us,  as  doubtless  in  all  such 
companies,  a  supply  of  witty,  reckless  Gallios,  who  gave 
a  cheerful  turn  to  our  thoughts.  We  soon  dispersed 
among  the  inhabitants,  scattered  over  the  neighboring 
hills  and  valleys,  for  breakfast.  Like  hungry  wolves  we 
fell  upon  the  lean  larders,  and  left  famine  behind.  Of 
course  every  one  offered  to  pay,  but  not  one  person 
would  accept  a  farthing :  we  were,  indeed,  received  as 
protectors  and  deliverers.  It  was  something,  after  all,  to 
be  soldiers  !  With  our  stomachs  fortified,  and  our  con 
sciousness  flattered,  we  came  cheerfully  together. 

At  ten  o'clock  we  were  mustered,  and  began  our  march 
all  in  our  best  trim  :  cocked  hats,  long-tailed  blue  coats, 
with  red  facings,  white  pantaloons,  and  shining  cutlasses 
at  our  sides.  Our  glittering  cannon  moved  along  with 
the  solemnity  of  elephants.  It  was,  in  fact,  a  fine  com 
pany — all  young  men,  and  many  from  the  best  families 
in  Hartford.  As  we  entered  New  London  the  streets 
presented  some  confusion,  for  the  people  were  still  re- 


OWN     8TOBT.  137 

moving  back  into  the  country,  as  an  attack  was  daily  ex 
pected.  A  few  military  companies  were  also  gathering 
into  the  town.  We  were,  however,  not  wholly  over 
looked  :  women  put  their  heads  out  of  the  windows  and 
smiled  their  gratitude  as  we  passed  along.  Men  stopped 
and  surveyed  us  with  evident  signs  of  approbation.  It 
was  a  glorious  thing  to  belong  to  such  a  company !  At 
last  we  came  to  a  halt  in  one  of  the  public  squares. 
Then  there  was  racing  and  chasing  of  aids-de-camp  for 
four  mortal  hours,  during  which  our  martial  pride  droop 
ed  a  little  in  the  broiling  sun.  At  four  o'clock  in  the 
afternoon  we  were  transported  across  the  Thames  to  the 
village  of  Croton,  and  took  up  our  quarters  in  a  large 
house  on  the  bank  of  the  river,  vacated  for  our  use. 
Two  immense  kettles — the  one  filled  with  junks  of  salt 
beef,  and  the  other  with  unwashed  potatoes — were  swung 
upon  the  kitchen  trammels,  and  at  six  o'clock  in  the 
evening  we  were  permitted  each  to  fish  out  his  dinner 
from  the  seething  mass.  That  was  my  first  soldier's  sup 
per  ;  and,  after  all,  it  was  a  welcome  meal. 


CHAPTEE    Xlll. 

HBW  LONDON— OTJR  MILITABY  BEPUTATION — SENT  WITH  A  LETTER — BRITISH 
CANNON-BALLS — OUT  OF  HABJj'g  WAY — AN  ALARM — ON  GUARD — TAKE  A 
PRISONER — 8TEANOE  EMOTIONS — MY  LEFT-HAND  CHUM  —  A  GRATEFUL 
COUNTRY. 

NEW  LONDON  is  situated  on  the  western  bank  of  the 
river  Thames,  three  miles  from  its  mouth.  It  has  now 
ten  or  twelve  thousand  inhabitants,  but  at  the  time  I  am 
speaking  of  there  were  not  more  than  four  thousand. 
The  entrance  to  the  river  is  broad,  and  affords  a  fine  har 
bor.  This  is  defended  by  Fort  Trumbull  on  the  western 
side  of  the  river,  half  a  mile  below  the  city.  It  contained 
a  garrison  of  six  or  seven  hundred  soldiers  during  the 
war  of  1812. 

Opposite  to  New  London  is  the  village  of  Groton,  the 
main  street  running  along  the  river  bank ;  on  an  emi 
nence  some  hundred  rods  from  the  river,  and  command 
ing  a  view  of  the  surrounding  country,  including  the 
harbor  and  the  islands  which  lie  scattered  near  it  in  the 
Sound,  is  the  site  of  Fort  Griswold.  The  old  fort  is  now 
in  ruins,  but  in  my  time  it  was  in  tolerable  repair.  Our 
company,  as  well  .as  other  portions  of  the  militia,  labored 
upon  it,  and  strengthened  it,  as  well  by  completing  its 
works  as  by  erecting  a  small  redoubt  upon  the  south 
eastern  side.  To  the  defence  of  the  latter,  in  case  of  at 
tack,  the  Hartford  company  was  assigned. 


PETER     PARLEY'S      OWN     STORY.  139 

The  officers  of  our  company  were  rigid  disciplinarians, 
and  accordingly  we  were  drilled  for  about  four  hours 
each  day.  We  soon  gained  much  reputation  for  our 
martial  exercises  and  our  tidy  appearance.  Many  people 
came  over  from  New  London  to  witness  our  perform 
ances,  among  whom  were  often  persons  of  distinction. 
On  Sundays  we  marched  two  miles  to  church,  and  being 
in  our  best  guise,  caused  quite  a  sensation.  Men  and 
women,  boys  and  girls,  streamed  along  at  our  flanks, 
often  in  a  broiliug  sun,  yet  always  with  admiring  looks. 

After  a  morning  drill  we  were  generally  at  leisure  for 
the  rest  of  the  day,  taking  our  turns,  however,  on  guard, 
and  in  other  occasional  duties.  Most  of  the  soldiers 
gave  up  their  rations  of  mess  beef  and  potatoes,  and. 
lived  on  their  own  re'sources.  We  formed  ourselves  into 
a  general  club  for  a  supply  of  fresh  fish.  Every  day 
three  of  us  went  out  fishing,  and  generally  returned  with 
a  half-bushel  basket  full  of  various  kinds,  among  which 
the  blackfish  or  tataug,  now  so  greatly  esteemed,  was  al 
ways  abundant.  I  was  employed  by  the  captain  to  keep 
his  journal  of  our  proceedings,  and  sometimes  I  was 
dispatched  to  New  London,  or  to  some  one  of  the  officers 
along  the  line,  with  a  letter  or  a  parcel. 

I   remember  that   on   one   occasion  H.   A ,  my 

special  companion,  and  myself,  were  sent  with  a  letter  to 
an  officer  who  commanded  a  small  picket  on  the  eastern 
shore,  near  the  mouth  of  the  river ;  that  is,  at  Point 
Groton.  It  was  a  distance  of  some  three  miles.  The 
weather  was  pleasant,  and  our  route  lay  along  the  shore 
of  the  stream,  which  opens  into  a  wide  bay  as  it  meets 
the  Sound.  As  we  approached  the  southern  point  of  the 
shore  we  found  ourselves  quite  near  to  the  British 
squadron.  One  of  the  vessels,  ^which  we  knew  as  the 


140  PETER     PARLEY'S 

"Acasta" — for  we  had  learned  all  their  names — was 
under  full  sail  in  a  light  wind,  and  coming  up  toward 
the  shore.  She  was  already  so  near  that  we  could  see 
the  men,  and  note  every  movement  on  the  deck.  "While 
we  were  admiring  the  beautiful  appearance  of  the  ship, 
we  suddenly  saw  several  white  puffs  issue  from  her  sides 
and  uncoil  themselves  into  volumes  of  smoke.  Then  came 
a  deafening  roar ;  a  moment  after,  and  in  the  very  midst 
of  it,  there  were  wild  howls  in  the  air  above  our  heads. 
At  a  little  distance  beyond  the  ground  was  ploughed  up, 
scattering  the  soil  around,  and  the  top  of  one  of  the 
forest  trees,  of  which  a  few  were  scattered  here  and 
there,  was  cut  asunder  and  fell  almost  at  our  feet. 

We  understood  the  joke  in  an  instant,  and  so  did  the 
lieutenant  who  commanded  the  picket.  He  was  the 
object  of  the  attack,  and  the  broadside  of  the  "  Acasta," 
sending  its  shot  over  our  heads,  had  hurled  one  or  two 
balls  crashing  through  the  roof  of  the  little  fish-hut 
which  he  and  his  men  occupied.  In  less  than  five  min 
utes  they  were  seen  trotting  off  at  a  round  pace,  with 
their  cannon  jerking  right  and  left  over  the  rough  ground 
behind  them.  Several  other  shots  were  fired,  but  the 
party  escaped  in  safety.  My  companion  and  myself  en 
sconced  ourselves  behind  the  rocks,  and  though  it  was 
grave  sport  we  enjoyed  it  exceedingly.  We  could  trace 
the  cannon-balls  as  they  flew  by,  looking  like  globes  of 
mist  twinkling  through  the  air.  Several  of  them  passed 
close  over  our  heads,  and  grooved  the  earth  in  long 
trenches  at  our  sides.  The  noise  they  made  as  they  rose 
high  in  the  air  was  a  strange  mixture,  between  a  howl 
and  a  scream.  After  having  thus  showed  her  teeth  and 
made  a  great  noise  the  frigate  returned  to  her  anchorage, 
and  all  was  quiet.  I  hope  I  shall  not  degrade  myself  as 


OWN     STORY.  141 

a  soldier  in  your  eyes  by  confessing  that  this  was  the 
only  battle  in  which  I  was  engaged  during  this  glorious 
war! 

I  must,  however,  mention  one  circumstance  which 
tried  the  souls  of  our  company.  On  a  certain  Saturday 
a  large  accession  to  the  British  force  arrived  in  the  bay, 
the  whole  number  of  vessels  of  all  kinds  amounted  to 
fourteen.  This  looked  very  much  like  an  attack,  and  ac 
cordingly  there  was  a  feverish  anxiety  among  the  in 
habitants  of  New  London  and  the  vicinity,  and  a  general 
bustle  in  the  army  from  Groton  Point  to  Allyn's  Moun 
tain.  A  large  body  of  militia  was  set  to  work  upon  Fort 
Griswold.  Our  company  was  drilled  in  the  little  redoubt 
which  we  were  to  defend,  and  every  preparation  was 
made  to  give  the  enemy  a  warm  reception.  The  general 
idea  was,  that  a  landing  of  British  troops  would  be  made 
on  the  eastern  side,  and  that  we  should  take  the  brunt 
of  the  first  attack.  ^ 

The  sun  set  in  clouds,  and  as  the  evening  advanced 
bursts  of  thunder,  attended  by  flashes  of  lightning,  mut 
tered  along  the  distant  horizon.  Our  company  was  ad 
monished  to  sleep  on  their  arms.  Everything  wore  a 
rather  ominous  appearance.  There  were  no  signs  of 
cowardice  in  the  men,  but  they  looked  thoughtful ;  and 
when  the  wit  of  the  company  let  off  some  of  his  best 
jokes — which  would  ordinarily  have  set  the  whole  corps 
in  a  roar — he  was  answered  by  a  dead  silence.  It 
chanced  that  I  was  that  night  on  guard.  My  turn  came 
at  ten  o'clock.  Taking  my  gun,  I  paced  the  bank  of  the 
river  in  front  of  our  barracks.  I  had  received  orders  to 
let  nothing  pass  by  land  or  water.  It  was  intensely 
dark,  but  at  frequent  intervals  thin  flashes  of  lightning 


142  PETER     PARLEY    8 

sprang  up  against  the  distant  sky  behind  dark  rolling 
masses  of  clouds. 

Gradually  the  lights  in  the  streets  and  windows  of 
New  London,  stretching  in  a  long  line  on  the  opposite 
side  of  the  river,  were  extinguished  one  by  one ;  a  few 
remaining,  however,  as  sentinels,  indicating  anxiety  and 
watchfulness.  The  sounds  on  all  sides  were  at  last  hush 
ed,  "  and  left  the  world  to  darkness  and  to  me."  More 
than  half  of  my  two-hours'  watch  had  passed  when  I 
heard  the  dip  of  oars  and  the  flapping  of  waves  against 
the  prow  of  a  boat.  I  looked  in  the  direction  of  the 
sounds,  and  at  last  descried  the  dusky  outline  of  a  small 
craft  stealing  down  the  river.  I  cried  out, — "  Boat  ahoy ! 
who  goes  there  ?"  My  voice  echoed  portentously  in  the 
silence,  but  no  answer  was  given,  and  the  low,  black,  rak 
ing  apparition  glided  on  its  way.  Again  I  challenged, 
but  there  was  still  no  reply.  On  went  the  ghost !  I 
cocked  my  gun.  The  click  sounded  ominously  on  the 
still  night  air.  I  began  to  consider  the  horror  of  shoot 
ing  some  fellow-being  in  the  dark.  I  called  a  third  time, 
and  not  without  avail.  The  rudder  was  turned,  the  boat 
whirled  on  her  heel,  and  a  man  came  ashore.  Accord 
ing  to  my  orders  I  marshalled  him  to  the  guard-room, 
and  gave  notice  of  what  had  happened  to  the  captain. 
The  man  was  only  a  fisherman  going  home,  but  he  was 
detained  till  morning.  So,  you  see,  I  can  boast  that  I 
made  one  prisoner.  My  watch  was  soon  over,  and  re 
turning  to  my  station  I  laid  down  to  sleep. 

All  was  soon  quiet,  and  I  was  buried  in  profound 
repose,  when  suddenly  there  was  a  cry  in  the  main  bar- 
rack-room  overhead, — "  Alarm  !  alarm !" 

"  Alarm !  alarm !"  was  echoed  by  twenty  voices,  at 
tended  by  quick,  shuffling  sounds,  and  followed  by  a 


OWN     8TOEY.  143 

hurried  rush  of  men  down  the  staircase.  A  moment 
after  the  guard  ia  front  discharged  his  musket,  and  was 
answered  by  a  long  line  of  reports  up  and  down  the  river, 
from  the  various  sentinels,  extending  for  half-a-dozen 
miles.  Then  came  the  roll  of  drums  and  the  mustering 
of  the  men.  Several  of  our  company  had  been  out  to 
see  what  was  going  on :  they  came  back  saying  that  the 

enemy  was  approaching  !  J.  M distinctly  heard  the 

roar  of  cannon,  and  positively  saw  the  flash  of  muskets. 

B.  W found  out  that  the  attack  had  already  begun 

upon  our  southern  pickets.  Nobody  doubted  that  our 
time  had  come ! 

In  a  very  few  minutes  our  company  was  drawn  up  in 
line,  and  the  roll  was  called.  It  was  still  dark,  but  the 
faint  flash  gave  us  now  and  then  a  glimpse  of  each  other's 
faces.  I  think  we  were  a  ghostly-looking  set,  but  it  was, 
perhaps,  owing  to  the  blueish  complexion  of  the  light.  J. 

S ,  of  West  Hartford,  who  marched  at  my  left 

shoulder — usually  the  lightest-hearted  fellow  in  the  com 
pany — whispered  to  me, — "Goodrich,  I'd  give  fifty  dol 
lars  to  be  at  West  Division  !"  For  myself,  I  felt  rather 
serious,  and  asked  a  certain  anxious  feeling  in  my 
stomach, — "  What's  to  be  done  ?"  Johnson,  our  captain, 
was  a  man  of  nerve  and  ready  speech.  When  the  roll 
was  finished,  he  said  in  a  clear,  hearty  tone, — "All  right, 
my  good  fellows !  Every  man  at  his  post !"  These  few 
words — which  were,  however,  more  politic  than  true,  for 
one  fellow  was  taken  with  sudden  colic,  and  could  not  be 
got  out — were  electrical.  We  were  ready  to  take  our 
places  in  the  redoubt 

Messengers  were  now  sent  to  the  two  neighboring 
posts  to  inquire  into  the  state  of  facts.  Word  was 
brought  that  the  first  alarm  came  from  our  barracks ! 


144         PETER     PARLEY'S      OWN     STORY. 

The  matter  was  inquired  into,  and  it  turned  out  that  the 
whole  affair  was  originated  by  a  corporal  of  ours,  who, 
in  a  fit  of  nightmare,  jumped  up  and  cried, — "  Alarm  ! 
alarm !" 

Our  martial  ardor  soon  reconciled  itself  to  this  rather 
ludicrous  denouement,  though  several  persons,  who  had 
been  somewhat  chapfalleu,  became  suddenly  inflated  with 
courage,  which  signalized  itself  with  outbursts  of  "  Hang 
the  British  !"  "  They're  a  p'ack  of  sneaking  cowards, 
after  all !"  and  the  like.  The  next  morning  was  fresh 
and  fair.  The  skirmishing  thunder-gusts  of  the  night 
had  cleared  the  air,  and  even  distant  objects  seemed  near 
at  hand.  Before  us  lay  the  whole  British  fleet,  still  and 
harmless,  in  the  glassy  bay.  My  lefthand  chum,  J. 

S ,  who,  in  the  dark  hour,  would  have  given  fifty 

dollars  to  be  at  West  Division,  was  now  himself  again. 
"  Come  on  here,  you  black  old  Ramilies !"  said  he,  dash- 
the  doubled  fist  of  his  right  hand  into  the  palm  of  his 
left  :  "  Come  on  here,  you  black-hearted  British  bull-dogs, 
and  we'll  do  your  business  for  you  !" 

Our  period  of  service  was  brief.  In  about  six  weeks 
from  the  time  of  our  departure  we  were  dismissed,  and 
returned  to  our  homes.  Thus  closed  my  military  career, 
so  far  as  relates  to  active  service.  The  remembrances  of 
my  first  and  last  campaign  are,  on  the  whole,  pleasant. 
There  were  feelings  of  fraternity  established  between  the 
members  of  the  company  which  have  continued  to  this 
day.  My  country  has  not  been  unmindful  of  my  servi 
ces  ;  for  I  have  received  two  land-warrants,  giving  me  a 
title  to  some  hundred  and  sixty  acres,  with  the  fresh 
virgin  soil  of  the  Far  West  upon  them.  Say  not  that 
republics  are  ungrateful ! 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

KfMOTO     OF     WAR     IN     NEW     ENGLAND — PERSONAL     EXPERIENCE — NEWS     OW 
PEACE — ILLUMINATIONS— CONFESSIONS. 

I  REMEMBER  perfectly  well  the  universal  state  of 
anxiety  and  depression  which  prevailed  in  New  England 
during  the  latter  part  of  the  war.  The  acts  of  govern 
ment,  the  movements  of  fleets  and  armies,  furnish  no 
idea  of  the  condition  of  society  in  its  daily  life.  Let  me 
give  you  a  few  items  as  indications  of  the  embarrass 
ments,  vexations,  and  privations  which  the  war  had 
brought  unto  every  man's  house  and  home.  Such  a  thing 
as  silver  or  gold  money  was  almost  unknown.  The  chief 
circulation  consisted  of  bills  of  suspended  banks,  or  what 
were  called  "  facilities  ;"  that  is,  bank  notes,  authorized 
by  the  legislature  of  Connecticut,  redeemable  in  three 
years  after  the  war.  These  were  at  fifteen  to  twenty- 
five  per  cent,  discount  compared  with  specie.  Banks 
issued  notes  of  fifty,  twenty-five,  and  twelve-and-a-half 
cents.  Barbers  issued  bills  payable  in  shaving,  and  va 
rious  institutions  adopted  a  similar  course.  The  whole 
mass  acquired  the  title,  of  "  rag-money,"  "  shin-plasters," 
&c.  :  a  large  portion  of  it  was  notoriously  worthless, 
either  as  being  counterfeit,  or  issued  by  irresponsible  par 
ties,  yet  it  generally  passed  without  scrutiny. 

I  had  personal  experience  of  the  universal  depression. 
In  the  summer  of  1814  I  was  out  of  my  time,  and  cast 
13 


146  PETER      PARLEY'S 

about  for  some  employment.  I  went  to  New  York  for 
this  object,  but  found  not  the  slightest  encouragement. 
After  some  reflection  I  established  a  manufactory  of 
pocket-books,  in  connection  with  one  of  my  friends,  who 
furnished  the  capital.  The  greatest  difficulty  was  to  find 
the  materials.  I  made  expeditions  to  Boston,  Charles- 
town,  Providence,  &c.,  and  was  not  able  to  obtain  over 
fifty  pieces  of  morocco  fit  for  the  purpose.  In  Decem 
ber  I  went  to  New  York,  and  was  more  successful.  I 
made  a  considerable  purchase,  and  dispatched  my  goods 
by  the  carrier.  Pretty  well  content  with  my  success,  I 
had  gone  in  the  evening  to  a  concert  at  the  City  Hotel. 
While  listening  to  the  music  there  was  a  murmur  in  the 
streets.  Soon  the  door  of  the  concert-room  was  thrown 
open,  and  in  rushed  a  man  all  breathless  with  excitement. 
He  mounted  on  a  table,  and  swinging  a  white  handker 
chief  aloft,  cried  out, — 

"  Peace  !   peace !  peace  !" 

The  music  ceased  :  the  hall  was  speedily  vacated.  I 
rushed  into  the  street,  and  oh,  what  a  scene  ! 

It  was  on  the  evening  of  Saturday,  the  llth  of  Febru 
ary,  1815,  that  the  news  of  the  treaty  of  peace  reached 
New  York.  In  half-an-hour  after  Broadway  was  one 
living  sea  of  shouting,  rejoicing  people.  u  Peace !  peace  ! 
peace !"  was  the  deep,  harmonious,  universal  anthem. 
The  whole  spectacle  was  enlivened  by  a  sudden  inspira 
tion.  Somebody  came  with  a  torch  :  the  bright  idea 
passed  into  a  thousand  brains.  In  a  few  minutes  thou 
sands  and  tens  of  thousands  of  people  were  marching 
about  with  candles,  lamps,  torches,  making  the  jubilant 
street  appear  like  a  gay  and  gorgeous  procession.  The 
whole  night  Broadway  sang  its  song  of  peace.  We  were 
all  democrats — all  federalists  !  Old  enemies  rushed  into 


OWN      STORY.  147 

each  other's  arms :  every  house  was  in  a  revel :  every 
heart  seemed  melted  hy  a  joy  which  banished  all  evil 
thought  and  feeling.  Nobody  asked,  that  happy  night, 
what  were  the  terms  of  the  treaty :  we  had  got  peace — 
that  was  enough !  I  moved  about  for  hours  in  the 
ebbing  and  flowing  tide  of  people,  not  being  aware  that 
I  had  opened  my  lips.  The  next  morning  I  found  that  I 
was  hoarse  from  having  joined  in  the  exulting  cry  of 
u  Peace  !  peace  !" 

The  next  day,  Sunday,  all  the  churches  sent  up  hymns 
of  thanksgiving  for  the  joyous  tidings.  I  set  out  in  the 
stage-coach  on  Monday  morning  for  Connecticut.  All 
along  the  road  the  people  saluted  us  with  swinging  of 
hats  and  cries  of  rejoicing.  At  one  place,  in  a  rather 
lonesome  part  of  the  road,  a  schoolmaster  came  with  the 
whole  school  at  his  heels  to  ask  us  if  the  news  was  true. 
We  told  him  it  was ;  whereupon  he  tied  his  bandanna 
pocket-handkerchief  to  a  broom,  swung  it  aloft,  and  the 
whole  school  hosannaed,  "  Peace !  peace !"  A£  all  our 
stopping-places  the  people  were  gathered  to  rejoice  in  the 
good  tidings.  At  one  little  tavern  I  looked  into  a  room,  by 
chance,  the  door  being  open,  and  there  I  saw  the  good- 
wife,  with  a  chubby  boy  in  her  lap — both  in  a  perfect 
gale  of  merriment — the  child  crying  out,  "  Peath  !  peath  !" 
Oh,  ye  makers  of  war,  reflect  upon  this  heartfelt  verdict 
of  the  people  in  behalf  of  peace  ! 

We  arrived  at  New  Haven  in  the  evening,  and  found 
it  illuminated :  the  next  day  I  reached  Hartford,  and 
there  also  was  a  grand  illumination.  The  news  spread 
over  the  country,  carrying  with  it  a  wave  of  shouts  and 
rejoicings.  Boston  became  clamorous  with  pealing  bells ; 
the  schools  had  a  jubilee ;  the  blockaded  shipping,  rot 
ting  at  the  dilapidated  wharves,  got  out  their  dusty  bunt- 


148        PETEE     PARLEY'S     OWN     6TOKY. 

ings,  and  these,  ragged  and  forlorn,  now  flapped  merrily 
in  the  breeze.  At  night  the  city  flamed  far  and  wide — 
from  Beacon  street  down  the  Bay,  telling  the  glorious 
tale  even  unto  Cape  Cod.  So  spread  the  news  over  the 
country,  everywhere,  carrying  joy  to  every  heart — with, 
perhaps,  a  single  exception.  At  Washington,  the  authors 
of  the  war  peeped  into  the  dispatches,  and  found  that 
the  treaty  had  no  stipulations  against  the  Orders  in  Coun 
cil,  Paper  Blockades,  and  Impressments,  which  were  the 
pretexts  for  the  war.  All  that  could  be  maintained  was, 
that  we  had  made  war,  charging  the  enemy  with  very 
gross  enormities,  and  we  had  made  peace,  saying  not  one 
word  about  them ! 

So  the  war  was  ended. 

Let  us  be  frank,  and  confess  the  truth :  the  war,  in  the 
aspects  in  which  history  thus  presents  it,  was  disgraceful 
to  the  authors  of  it :  it  was,  in  many  respects,  disastrous 
to  the  country  ;  and  yet  it  has  left  us  some  wholesome 
lessons.  It  has  shown  the  danger  and  folly  of  plunging 
a  great  country  into  a  national  conflict  for  narrow  and 
selfish  purposes,  because,  under  such  circumstances,  the 
people  will  be  divided,  and  it  will  be  a  partisan,  and  not 
a  patriotic  war ;  it  has  put  on  record  another  instance  in 
which  war  has  been  declared  in  boasting,  and  ended  pre 
cisely  where  it  began,  after  years  of  violence,  sorrow,  and 
bloodshed.  It  has  shown,  also — in  connection  with  sub 
sequent  events — the  superiority  of  peace  to  war,  even  in 
obtaining  the  ends  of  justice ;  for  let  it  be  remembered 
that  Daniel  Webster  extorted  from  Great  Britain,  by  the 
force  of  argument,  that  which  the  sword  could  not  achieve. 


CHAPTEK   XY. 

•TIL  EFFECTS  OP  NIOHT  STUDY— COMMENCEMENT  OF  A  LITBEABY  CARIES 
—  THOUGHTS  ON  DANCING  —  NEW  YORK — SARATOGA  —  DEATH  OF  MY 
TTNCLE — BECOME  A  BOOKSELLER — COLD  SUMMER — T'OTUBB  SIDE  OF  OHIO. 

I  HAVE  told  you  that  my  apprenticeship  terminated  in 
the  summer  of  1814.  Previous  to  that  time  I  had  made 
some  advances  in  the  study  of  the  French  language, 
under  M.  Value,  or,  to  give  him  his  title,  the  Count 
Value.  This  person  had  spent  his  early  life  in  Paris,  but 
afterward  migrated  to  St.  Domingo,  where  he  owned  a 
large  estate.  In  the  insurrection  of  1794  he  escaped 
only  with  his  life.  With  admirable  cheerfulness  and 
serenity  he  devoted  himself  to  teaching  French  and 
dancing,  as  means  of  support.  He  settled  for  a  time  at 
New  Haven,  where,  at  the  age  of  seventy,  he  was  capti 
vated  by  a  tall,  red-haired  schoolmistress  of  twenty, 
whom  he  married. 

The  Count  finally  established  himself  at  Hartford,  and 
I  became  one  of  his  pupils.  I  pursued  my  studies  with, 
considerable  assiduity,  and  to  practise  myself  in  French, 
I  translated  Chateaubriand's  Rene.  One  of  my  friends 
had  just  established  a  newspaper  at  Middletown,  and  my 
translation  was  published  there\  About  this  time  my 
health  was  feeble,  and  my  eyes  became  seriously  affected 
in  consequence  of  my  night  studies.  Unaware  of  the 
danger,  I  persevered,  and  thus  laid  the  foundation  of  ft 
13* 


150  PETER     PARLEY'S 

nervous  weakness  and  irritability  of  my  eyes,  which  has 
since  been  to  me  a  rock  ahead  in  the  whole  voyage  of 
life.  From  that  time  I  have  never  been  able  to  read  or 
write  without  pain.  As  if  by  a  kind  of  fatality,  I  seemed 
to  be  afterwards  drawn  into  a  literary  career,  for  which  I 
was  doubly  disqualified — first  by  an  imperfect  education, 
and  next  by  defective  eyesight.  Oh !  what  penalties 
have  I  paid  for  thus  persisting  in  a  course  which  seems 
to  have  been  forbidden  to  me  by  Providence.  After  a 
long  and  laborious  life,  I  feel  a  profound  consciousness 
that  I  have  done  nothing  well ;  at  the  same  time,  days, 
months,  nay  years,  have  I  struggled  with  the  constant 
apprehension  that  I  should  terminate  my  career  in  blind 
ness  !  How  little  do  we  know,  especially  in  the  outset 
of  our  existence,  what  is  before  us !  It  is  well  that 
we  do  not  know,  for  the  prospect  would  often  over 
whelm  us. 

In  the  autumn  of  1814,  as  already  stated,  I  establish 
ed,  in  company  with  a  friend,  a  pocket-book  factory  at 
Hartford ;  but  the  peace  put  a  speedy  termination  to  that 
enterprise.  We  came  out  of  it  with  a  small  loss,  and  my 
kind-hearted  partner  pocketed  this,  "  for  he  had  money, 
and  I  had  none."  He  forgave  me,  and  would  have  done 
the  same  had  the  deficit  been  more  considerable,  for  he 
was  a  true  friend. 

Early  in  the  following  spring,  I  made  an  arrangement 
to  go  to  Paris  as  a  clerk  in  the  branch  of  the  importing 
house  of  Kichards,  Taylor  &  Wilder,  of  New  York. 
About  a  month  afterwards  the  news  came  that  Napoleon 
had  suddenly  returned  from  Elba,  and  as  business  was 
prostrated  by  that  event,  my  engagement  failed.  For 
nearly  a  year,  my  health  continued  indifferent,  and  my 
eyes  in  such  a  state  that  I  was  incapable  of  undertaking 


O  W  K     8  T  O  RT.  151 

any  serious  business.  I  spent  my  time  partly  at  Berlin, 
and  partly  at  Hartford.  I  read  a  little,  and  practised  my 
French  with  Value  and  his  scholars.  I  also  felt  the  need 
of  disciplining  my  hands  and  feet,  which  about  these 
days  seemed  to  me  to  have  acquired  a  most  absurd  de 
velopment,  giving  me  a  feeling  of  great  embarrassment 
when  I  entered  into  company.  I  therefore  took  lessons 
in  dancing,  and,  whether  I  profited  by  it  or  not  as  to 
manners,  I  am  persuaded  that  this  portion  of  my  edu 
cation  was  highly  beneficial  to  me  in  other  points  of 
view. 

As  many  good  people  have  a  prejudice  against  dan 
cing,  I  am  disposed  to  write  down  my  experience  on  the 
subject.  In  the  winter,  our  good  old  teacher  had  weekly 
cotillion  parties,  for  *the  purpose  of  improving  his  schol 
ars.  The  young  men  invited  the  young  women,  and 
took  them  to  these  gatherings,  and  after  the  exercises 
conducted  them  home  again.  I  know  this  will  sound 
strange  to  those  who  only  understand  metropolitan  man 
ners  at  the  present  day  ;  but  I  never  knew  an  instance, 
in  my  own  experience  or  observation,  in  which  the 
strictest  propriety  was  departed  from.  These  parties 
took  place  in  the  evening :  they  began  at  eight  o'clock, 
and  continued  till  ten  or  eleven — sometimes  till  twelve. 
The  company  consisted  entirely  of  young  persons,  from 
fifteen  to  twenty  years  of  age  :  they  included  the  chil 
dren  of  the  respectable  inhabitants,  with  a  number  of 
young  ladies  from  the  boarding-schools.  Some  of  these 
I  have  since  seen  the  wives  of  bishops,  senators,  and 
governors  of  States — filling  the  first  stations  to  which 
women  can  aspire  in  this  country,  and  I  am  satisfied  that 
these  Hartford  parties,  under  the  auspices  of  our  amiable 
and  respected  old  teacher,  were  every  way  refining  and 


152  PETER     PARLEY'S 

elevating  :  not  only  did  they  impart  ease  of  manner,  but, 
as  I  think,  purity  of  sentiment. 

In  the  spring  of  1815  I  paid  a  visit  to  New  York,  and 
having  letters  of  introduction  to  Oliver  Wolcott  and 
Archibald  Gracie,  I  called  on  these  gentlemen.  My 
lodgings  were  at  the  City  Hotel,  situated  on  the  western 
side  of  Broadway,  between  Thames  and  Cedar  Streets, 
the  space  being  now  occupied  by  warehouses.  It  was 
then  the  chief  hotel  of  New  York,  and  was  kept  by  a 
model  landlord,  named  Jennings,  with  .a  model  bar-keeper 
by  the  name  of  Willard.  The  latter  was  said  never  to 
sleep  night  or  day,  for  at  all  hours  he  was  at  his  post, 
and  never  forgot  a  customer,  even  after  an  absence  of 
twenty  years. 

It  was  late  in  the  spring,  and  Mr.*Gracie  called  for  me 
and  took  me  to  his  country  seat,  occupying  a  little  pro- 
monotory  on  the  western  side  of  Hurlgate,  a  charming 
spot.  Contiguous  to  it  were  the  summer  residences  of 
many  of  the  leading  citizens  of  New  York. 

Here  I  spent  a  fortnight  very  agreeably.  Mr.  Gracie 
was  at  this  period  distinguished  alike  on  account  of  his 
wealth,  his  intelligence,  and  his  amiable  and  honorable 
character.  Never  have  I  witnessed  anything  more  charm 
ing — more  affectionate,  dignified,  and  graceful,  than  the 
intercourse  of  the  family  with  one  another.  Not  many 
years  after,  Mr.  Gracie  lost  his  entire  fortune  by  the 
vicissitudes  of  commerce,  but  his  character  was  beyond 
the  reach  of  accident.  He  is  still  remembered  with 
affectionate  respect  by  all  those  whose  memories  reach 
back  to  the  times  in  which  he  flourished,  and  when  it 
might  be  said,  without  disparagement  to  any  other  man, 
that  he  was  the  first  merchant  in  New  York. 

Early  in  the  ensuing  summer,  my  uncle,  Chauncey 


OWN     STORY.  153 

Goodrich,  being  in  bad  health,  paid  a  visit  to  Saratoga 
and  Ballston  for  the  benefit  of  the  waters,  and  I  accom 
panied  him.  We  soon  returned,  however,  for  it  was  now 
apparent  that  he  had  a  disease  of  the  heart,  which  was 
rapidly  tending  to  a  fatal  result.  Experiencing  great  suf 
fering  at  intervals,  he  gradually  yielded  to  the  progress 
of  his  malady,  and  at  last,  on  the  18th  of  August,  1815, 
while  walking  the  room,  and  engaged  in  cheerful  con 
versation,  he  faltered,  sank  into  a  chair,  and  instantly  ex 
pired.  "  His  death,"  says  the  historian,  "  was  a  shock  to 
the  whole  community.  Party  distinctions  were  forgot 
ten,  under  a  sense  of  the  general  calamity ;  and  in  the 
simple  but  expressive  language  which  was  used  at  his 
funeral,  '  all  united  in  a  tribute  of  respect  to  the  man  who 
had  so  long  been  dear  to  us,  and  done  us  so  much  good.' " 
To  me,  the  loss  was  irreparable  ;  leaving,  however,  in  my 
heart  a  feeling  of  gratitude  that  I  had  witnessed  an  ex 
ample  of  the  highest  intellectual  power  united  with  the 
greatest  moral  excellence,  and  that,  too,  in  one  whose 
relationship  to  me  enforced  and  commended  its  teachings 
to  my  special  observance.  Alas,  how  little  have  I  done 
in  life  that  is  worthy  of  such  inspiration  ! 

Not  long  after  this,  my  friend  George  Sheldon,  who 
had  established  himself  as  a  bookseller  and  publisher, 
invited  me  to  become  his  partner,  and  this  I  did  early  in 
the  year  1816.  We  pursued  the  business  for  nearly  two 
years,  during  which  time  we  published,  among  other 
works,  Scott's  Family  Bible,  in  five  volumes  quarto — a 
considerable  enterprise  for  that  period  in  a  place  like 
Hartford.  In  the  autumn  of  1817  I  had  gone  to  Berlin, 
for  the  purpose  of  making  a  short  excursion  for  the 
benefit  of  my  health,  when  a  messenger  came  from  Hart 
ford,  saying  that  my  partner  was  very  ill,  and  wished  me 


154  PETER     PARLEY'S 

to  return.  I  immediately  complied,  and  on  entering  the 
room  of  my  friend  I  found  him  in  a  high  fever,  his  mind 
already  wandering  in  painful  dreams.  As  I  came  to  his 
bedside  he  said, — "  Oh,  take  away  these  horrid  knives, 
they  cut  me  to  the  heart !"  I  stooped  over  him  and 
said, — 

"  There  are  no  knives  here ;  you  are  only  dreaming." 

"  Oh,  is  it  you  ?"  said  he.  "  I  am  glad  you  have  come. 
Do  stay  with  me,  and  speak  to  me,  so  as  to  keep  off  these 
dreadful  fancies." 

I  did  stay  by  him  for  four  days  and  nights ;  but  his 
doom  was  sealed.  His  mind  continued  in  a  state  of  wild 
delirium  till  a  few  minutes  before  his  death.  I  stood 
gazing  at  his  face,  when  a  sudden  change  came  over  him  : 
the  agitated  and  disturbed  look  of  insanity  had  passed — 
a  quiet  pallor  had  come  over  his  countenance,  leaving  it 
calm  and  peaceful.  He  opened  his  eyes,  and,  as  if  wak 
ing  from  sleep,  looked  on  me  with  an  aspect  of  recogni 
tion.  His  lips  moved,  and  he  pronounced  the  name  of 
his  wife :  she  came,  with  all  the  feelings  of  youth  and 
love — ay,  and  of  hope,  too,  in  her  heart.  She  bent  over 
him  :  he  raised  his  feeble  and  emaciated  arms  and  clasped 
her  to  his  heart :  he  gave  her  one  kiss,  and  passed  to 
another  life  ! 

The  summer  of  1816  was  probably  the  coldest  that 
has  been  known  in  this  century.  In  New  England — 
from  Connecticut  to  Maine — there  were  severe  frosts  in 
every  month.  The  crop  of  Indian  corn  was  almost 
entirely  cut  off:  of  potatoes,  hay,  oats,  &c.,  there  was 
not,  probably,  more  than  half  the  usual  supply.  The 
means  of  averting  the  effects  of  such  a  calamity — now 
afforded  by  railroads,  steam  navigation,  canals,  and  other 
facilities  of  intercommunication — did  not  then  exist. 


OWN      STORY.  155 

The  following  winter  waa  severe,  and  the  ensuing  spring 
backward.  At  this  time  I  made  a  journey  into  New 
Hampshire,  passing  along  the  Connecticut  river,  111  the 
region  of  Hanover.  It  was  then  June,  and  the  hills  were 
almost  as  barren  as  in  November.  I  saw  a  man  at 
Orford  who  had  been  forty  miles  for  a  half-bushel  of 
Indian  corn,  and  paid  two  dollars  for  it ! 

Along  the  seaboard  it  was  not  difficult  to  obtain  a 
supply  of  food,  although  every  article  was  dear.  In  the 
interior  it  was  otherwise  :  the  cattle  died  for  want  of  fod 
der,  and  many  of  the  inhabitants  nearly  perished  from 
starvation.  The  desolating  effects  of  the  war  still  linger 
ed  over  the  country,  and  at  last  a  kind  of  despair  seized 
upon  some  of  the  people.  In  the  pressure  of  adversity 
many  persons  lost  their  judgment,  and  thousands  feared 
or  felt  that  New  England  was  destined,  henceforth,  to  be 
come  a  part  of  the  frigid  zone.  At  the  same  time,  Ohio 
— with  its  rich  soil,  its  mild  climate,  its  inviting  prairies 
— was  opened  fully  upon  the  alarmed  and  anxious  vision. 
As  was  natural  under  the  circumstances,  a  sort  of 
stampede  took  place  from  cold,  desolate,  worn-out  New 
England,  to  this  land  of  promise. 

I  remember  very  well  the  tide  of  emigration  through 
Connecticut  on  its  way  to  the  West,  during  the  summer 
of  1817.  Some  persons  went  in  covered  wagons — 
frequently  a  family  consisting  of  father,  mother,  and  nine 
unall  children,  with  one  at  the  breast — some  on  foot,  and 
some  crowded  together  under  the  cover,  with  kettle, 
gridirons,  feather-beds,  crockery,  and  the  family  Bible, 
vVatts's  Psalms  and  Hymns,  and  Webster's  Spelling 
>ook — the  lares  and  penates  of  the  household.  Others 
tarted  in  ox-carts,  and  trudged  on  at  the  rate  of  ten 
ailes  a-day.  In  several  instances  I  saw  families  on  foot 


156  PETER     PARLEY'S 

— the  father  and  boys  taking  turns  in  dragging  along  an 
improvised  hand-wagon,  loaded  with  the  wreck  of  the 
household  goods — occasionally  giving  the  mother  and 
baby  a  ride.  Many  of  these  persons  were  in  a  state  01 
poverty,  and  begged  their  way  as  they  went.  Some  died 
before  they  reached  the  expected  Canaan ;  many  perished 
after  their  arrival,  from  fatigue  and  privation ;  and  others 
from  the  fever  and  ague,  which  was  then  certain  to 
attack  the  new  settlers. 

It  was,  I  think,  in  1818,  that  I  published  a  small  tract, 
entitled, "  T'other  Side  of  Ohio,"  that  is,  the  other  view, 
in  contrast  to  the  popular  notion  that  it  was  the  paradise 
of  the  world.  It  was  written  by  Dr.  Hand,  a  talented 
young  physician  of  Berlin,  who  had  made  a  visit  to  the 
West  about  this  time.  It  consisted  mainly  of  vivid  but 
painful  pictures  of  the  accidents  and  incidents  attending 
this  wholesale  migration.  The  roads  over  the  Allegha- 
nies,  between  Philadelphia  and  Pittsburg,  were  then 
rude,  steep,  and  dangerous,  and  some  of  the  more  pre 
cipitous  slopes  were  consequently  strewn  with  the  carcases 
of  wagons,  carts,  horses,  oxen,  which  had  made  ship 
wreck  in  their  perilous  descents.  The  scenes  on  the 
road — of  families  gathered  at  night  in  miserable  sheds, 
called  taverns — mothers  frying,  children  crying,  fathers 
swearing,  were  a  mingled  comedy  and  tragedy  of  errors. 
Even  when  they  arrived  at  their  new  homes,  along  the 
banks  of  the  Muskingum,  or  the  Scioto,  frequently  the 
whole  family — father,  mother,  children — speedily  ex 
changed  the  fresh  complexion  and  elastic  step  of  their 
first  abodes,  for  the  sunken  cheek  and  languid  movement, 
which  mark  the  victim  of  intermittent  fever. 

The  instances  of  home-sickness,  described  by  this  vivid 
sketcher,  were  touching.  Not  even  the  captive  Israelites, 


STORY.  157 

who  hung  their  harps  upon  the  willows  along  the  banks 
of  the  Euphrates,  wept  more  bitter  tears,  or  looked  back 
with  more  longing  to  their  native  homes,  than  did  these 
exiles  from  New  England ;  mourning  the  land  they  had 
left,  with  its  roads,  schools,  meeting-houses;  its  hope, 
health,  and  happiness !  Two  instances,  related  by  the 
traveller,  I  must  mention.  He  was  one  day  riding  in 
the  woods,  apart  from  the  settlements,  when  he  met  a 
youth  some  eighteen  years  of  age,  in  a  hunting-frock,  and 
with  a  fowling-piece  in  his  hand.  The  two  fell  into 
conversation. 

"  Where  are  you  from  ?"  said  the  youth,  at  last. 

"  From  Connecticut,"  was  the  reply. 

"  That  is  near  the  old  Bay  State !" 

"Yes." 

"And  have  you  been  there?" 

"  To  Massachusetts  ?     Yes,  many  a  time." 

"  Let  me  take  your  hand,  stranger.  My  mother  was 
from  the  Bay  State,  and  brought  me  here  when  I  was  an 
infant.  I  have  heard  her  speak  of  it.  Oh,  it  must  be  a 
lovely  land  !  I  wish  I  could  see  a  meeting-house  and  a 
school-house,  for  she  is  always  talking  about  them.  And 
the  sea — the  sea — oh,  if  I  could  see  that !  Did  you  ever 
see  it,  stranger  ?" 

"Yes,  often." 

"  What,  the  real,  salt  sea — the  ocean — with  the  ships 
upon  it  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Well,"  said  the  youth,  scarcely  able  to  suppress  his 
emotion,  "  if  I  could  see  the  old  Bay  State  and  the 
jcean,  I  should  be  willing  then  to  die !" 

In  another  instance  the  traveller  met,  somewheie  in 
;he  valley  of  the  Scioto,  a  man  from  Hartford,  by  the 
14 


158       PETER    PARLEY'S    OWN    STORY. 

name  of  Bull.  He  was  a  severe  democrat,  and  feeling 
sorely  oppressed  with  the  idea  that  he  was  no  better  off 
in  Connecticut  under  federalism  than  the  Hebrews  in 
Egypt,  joined  the  throng  and  migrated  to  Ohio.  He  was 
a  man  of  substance,  but  his  wealth  was  of  little  avail  in 
a  new  country,  where  all  the  comforts  and  luxuries  of 
civilization  were  unknown. 

"  When  I  left  Connecticut,"  said  he,  "  I  was  wretched 
from  thinking  of  the  sins  of  federalism.  After  I  had  got 
across  Byram  river,  which  divides  that  State  from  New 
York,  I  knelt  down  and  thanked  the  Lord  for  that  He 
had  brought  me  and  mine  out  of  such  a  priest-ridden 
land.  But  I've  been  well  punished,  and  I'm  now  prepar 
ing  to  return ;  when  I  again  cross  Byram  river,  I  shall 
thank  God  that  He  has  permitted  me  to  get  back  again !" 


CHAPTEK    XYI. 

JJAEUIAGE— WALTER     SCOTT — BYEON— SIDNEY      SMITH'S    TAUNT— PUBLICATION 

OF   OKIGINAL   AMERICAN   WORKS — MBS.   8IGOUENKY. 

EARLY  in  the  year  1818  I  was  married  to  the  daugh 
ter  of  Stephen  Howe  Bradley,  of  Westminster,  Vermont. 
Thus  established  in  life,  I  pursued  the  business  of  book 
seller  and  publisher  at  Hartford  for  four  years.  My  voca 
tion  gave  me  the  command  of  books,  but  I  was  able  to 
read  very  little — my  eyes  continuing  to  be  so  weak  that 
I  could  hardly  do  justice  to  my  affairs.  However,  I  dip 
ped  into  a  good  many  books,  and  acquired  a  considerable 
knowledge  of  authors  and  their  works. 

During  the  period  in  which  Scott  had  been  enchanting 
the  world  with  his  poetry — that  is,  from  1805  to  1815 — 
I  had  shared  in  the  general  intoxication.  The  Lady  of 
the  Lake  delighted  me  beyond  expression,  and  even  now, 
it  seems  to  me  the  most  pleasing  and  perfect  of  metrical 
romances.  These  productions  seized  powerfully  upon  the 
popular  mind,  partly  on  account  of  the  romance  of  their 
revelations,  and  partly  also  because  of  the  simplicity  of 
the  style,  and  the  easy  flow  of  the  versification.  Every 
body  could  read  and  comprehend  them.  One  of  my 
younger  sisters  committed  the  whole  of  the  Lady  of  the 
Lake  to  memory,  and  was  accustomed  of  an  evening  to 
it  at  her  sewing,  while  she  recited  it  to  an  admiring  cir- 
!e  of  listeners.  All  young  poets  were  inoculated  with 


160  PETEK     PARLEY'S 

the  octosyllabic  verse,  and  newspapers,  magazines,  and 
even  volumes,  teemed  with  imitations  and  variations  in 
spired  by  the  "  Wizard  Harp  of  the  North."  Not  only 
did  Scott  himself  continue  to  pour  out  volume  after 
volume,  but  others  produced  set  poems  in  his  style,  some 
of  them  so  close  in  their  imitation  as  to  be  supposed  the 
works  of  Scott  himself,  trying  the  effect  of  a  disguise. 
At  last,  however,  the  market  was  overstocked,  and  the 
general  appetite  began  to  pall  with  a  surfeit,  when  a 
sudden  change  took  place  in  the  public  taste. 

It  was  just  at  this  point  that  Byron  produced  his  first 
canto  of  Childe  Harold's  Pilgrimage.  Scott  speedily  ap 
preciated  the  eclipse  to  which  his  poetical  career  was 
doomed  by  the  rising  genius  of  Byron.  He  now  turned 
his  attention  to  prose  fiction,  and  in  July,  1814,  com 
pleted  and  published  Waverley,  which  had  been  begun 
some  eight  or  ten  years  before.  .  Guy  Mannering  came 
out  the  next  year,  and  was  received  with  a  certain  degree 
of  eagerness.  The  Antiquary,  Black  Dwarf,  Old  Mor 
tality,  Rob  Roy,  and  the  Heart  of  Mid-Lothian,  followed 
in  quick  succession.  I  suspect  that  never,  in  any  age, 
have  the  productions  of  any  author  created  in  the  world 
so  wide  and  deep  an  enthusiasm.  This  emotion  reached 
its  height  upon  the  appearance  of  Ivanhoe  in  1819,  which, 
I  think,  proved  the  most  popular  of  these  marvellous  pro 
ductions. 

At  this  period,  although  there  was  a  good  deal  of  mys 
tery  as  to  their  authorship,  the  public  generally  referred 
them  to  Scott.  He  was  called  the  "  Great  Unknown" — 
a  title  which  served  to  create  even  an  adventitious  inter 
est  in  his  career.  The  appearance  of  a  new  tale  from  his 
pen  caused  a  greater  sensation  in  the  United  States  than 
did  some  of  the  battles  of  Napoleon,  which  decided  the 


OWN     STORY.  161 

fate  of  thrones  and  empires.  Everybody  read  these 
works ;  everybody — the  refined  and  the  simple — shared 
in  the  delightful  dreams  which  seemed  to  transport  them 
to  remote  ages  and  distant  climes,  and  made  them  live 
and  breathe  in  the  presence  of  the  stern  Covenanters  of 
Scotland,  the  gallant  bowmen  of  Sherwood  Forest,  or 
even  the  Crusaders  in  Palestine,  where  Coeur  de  Lion  and 
Saladin  were  seen  struggling  for  the  mastery  !  I  can  tes 
tify  to  my  own  share  in  this  intoxication.  I  was  not 
able,  on  account  of  tny  eyes,  to  read  these  works  myself, 
but  I  found  friends  to  read  them  to  me.  To  one  good 
old  maid — Heaven  bless  her ! — I  was  indebted  for  the 
perusal  of  no  less  than  seven  of  these  tales. 

Of  course,  there  were  many  editions  of  these  works  in 
the  United  States,  and  among  others,  I  published  an 
edition,  I  think,  in  eight  volumes,  octavo — including 
those  which  had  appeared  at  that  time. 

About  this  time  I  began  to  think  of  trying  to  bring  out 
original  American  works.  It  must  be  remembered  that  I 
am  speaking  of  a  period  prior  to  1820.  At  that  date, 
Bryant,  Irving,  and  Cooper,  the  founders  of  our  modern 
literature,  had  just  commenced  their  literary  career. 
Neither  of  them  had  acquired  a  positive  reputation. 
Halleck,  Percival,  Brainard,  Longfellow,  Willis,  were  at 
school — at  least,  all  were  unknown.  The  general  im 
pression  was  that  we  had  not,  and  could  not  have,  a  liter 
ature.  It  was  the  precise  point  at  which  Sydney  Smith 
had  uttered  that  bitter  taunt  in  the  Edinburgh  Review — 
"  Who  reads  an  American  book  ?"  It  proved  to  be  that 
"darkest  hour  just  before  the  dawn."  The  successful 
booksellers  of  the  country  were  for  the  most  part  the 
mere  reproducers  and  sellers  of  English  books.  It  was 
positively  injurious  to  the  commercial  credit  of  a  book- 


162  PETER     PARLEY'S 

seller  to  undertake  American  works,  unless  they  might 
be  Morse's  Geographies,  classical  books,  school-books,  de 
votional  books,  or  other  utilitarian  works. 

Nevertheless,  about  this  time,  I  published  an  edition 
of  Trumbull's  poems,  in  two  volumes,  octavo,  and  paid 
him  a  thousand  dollars  and  a  hundred  copies  of  the 
work,  for  the  copyright.  I  was  seriously  counselled 
against  this  by  several  booksellers — and,  in  fact,  Trum- 
bull  had  sought  a  publisher  in  vain  for  several  years  pre 
vious.  There  Avas  an  association  of  designers  and  en 
gravers  at  Hartford,  called  the  "  Graphic  Company,"  and 
as  I  desired  to  patronize  the  liberal  arts  there,  I  employed 
them  to  execute  the  embellishments.  For  so  considera 
ble  an  enterprise,  I  took  the  precaution  to  get  a  subscrip 
tion,  in  which  I  was  tolerably  successful.  The  work  was 
at  last  produced,  but  it  did  not  come  up  to  the  public  ex-, 
pectation,  or  the  patriotic  zeal  had  cooled,  and  more  than 
half  the  subscribers  declined  taking  the  work.  I  did  not 
press  it,  but  putting  a  good  face  upon  the  affair,  I  let  it 
pass,  and — while  the  public  supposed  I  had  made  money 
by  my  enterprise,  and  even  the  author  looked  askance  at 
at  me  in  the  jealous  apprehension  that  I  had  made  too 
good  a  bargain  out  of  him — I  quietly  pocketed  a  loss  of 
about  a  thousand  dollars.  This  was  my  first  serious  ad 
venture  in  patronizing  American  literature. 

About  the  same  period  I  turned  my  attention  to  books 
for  education  and  books  for  children,  being  strongly  im 
pressed  with  the  idea  that  there  was  here  a  large  field  foi 
improvement.  I  wrote,  myself,  a  small  arithmetic,  and 
half-a-dozen  toy-books,  and  published  them  anonymously. 
I  also  employed  several  persons  to  write  school  histories, 
and  educational  manuals  of  chemistry,  natural  philosophy, 
&c.,  upon  plans  which' I  prescribed — all  of  which  I  pub- 


OWN     STOUT.  163 

lished ;  but  none  of  these  were  very  successful  at  that 
time.  Some  of  them,  passing  into  other  hands,  are  now 
among  the  most  popular  and  profitable  school-boots  in 
the  country. 

It  was  before  this  period  that  Miss  Huntly,  now  Mrs. 
Sigourney,  was  induced  to  leave  her  home  in  Norwich, 
and  make  Hartford  her  residence.  This  occurred  about 
the  year  1814.  Ere  long  she  was  the  presiding  genius 
of  our  social  circle.  I  shall  not  write  her  history,  nor  di 
late  upon  her  literary  career,  yet  I  may  speak  of  her  in 
fluence  in  this  new  relation — a  part  of  which  fell  upon 
myself.  Mingling  in  the  gayeties  of  our  social  gather 
ings,  and  in  no  respect  clouding  their  festivity,  she  led  us 
all  toward  intellectual  pursuits  and  amusements.  We 
had  even  a  literary  coterie  under  her  inspiration,  its  first 
meetings  being  held  at  Mr.  Wadsworth's.  I  believe  one 
of  my  earliest  attempts  at  composition  was  made  here. 
The  ripples  thus  begun,  extended  over  the  whole  surface 
of  our  young  society,  producing  a  lasting  and  refining 
effect.  It  could  not  but  be  beneficial  thus  to  mingle  in 
intercourse  with  one  who  has  the  faculty  of  seeing  poetry 
in  all  things  and  good  everywhere.  Few  persons  living 
have  exercised  a  wider  influence  than  Mrs.  Sigourney. 
No  one  that  I  now  know  can  look  back  upon  a  long  and 
earnest  career  of  such  unblemished  beneficence. 


OHAPTEK    XYII. 


DOMESTIC  TROUBLES — SKETCH   OF    B BAIN ARD— AUNT   LUCY'S      BACK-PAKLOB— 
THK  TALI,  OP  NIAGARA — DEATH   OP  BRAINAED. 


IN  1821,  clouds  and  darkness  began  to  gather  around 
my  path.  By  a  fall  from  a  horse,  I  was  put  upon  crutches 
for  more  than  a  year,  and  a  cane  for  the  rest  of  my  life. 
Ere  long  death  entered  my  door,  and  my  home  was 
desolate.  I  was  once  more  alone — save  only  that  a 
child  was  left  me,  to  grow  to  womanhood,  and  to  die  a 
youthful  mother,  loving  and  beloved.  My  affairs  became 
embarrassed,  my  health  failed,  and  my  only  hope  of 
renovation  was  in  a  change  of  scene. 

Before  I  give  you  a  sketch  of  my  experience  and  ob 
servations  abroad,  I  must  present  the  portrait  of  my 
friend  Brainard.  He  came  to  Hartford  in  February, 
1822,  to  take  the  editorial  charge  of  the  Connecticut 
Mirror.  He  was  now  twenty-six  years  old,  and  had 
gained  some  reputation  for  wit  and  poetical  talent.  One 
day  a  young  man,  small  in  stature,  with  a  curious  mixture 
of  ease  and  awkwardness,  of  humor  and  humility,  came 
into  my  office,  and  introduced  himself  as  Mr.  Brainard. 
I  gave  him  a  hearty  welcome,  for  I  had  heard  very 
pleasant  accounts  of  him.  As  was  natural,  I  made  a 
complimentary  allusion  to  his  poems,  which  I  had  seen 


PETER     PARLEY'S     OWN     STORY.         165 

and  admired.  A  smile,  yet  shaded  with  something  of 
melancholy,  came  over  his  face  as  he  replied, — 

"  Don't  expect  too  much  of  me ;  I  never  succeeded  in 
anything  yet.  I  never  could  draw  a  mug  of  cider  with 
out  spilling  more  than  half  of  it !" 

I  afterwards  found  that  much  truth  was  thus  spoken  in 
jest.  This  was,  in  point  of  fact,  precisely  Brainard's  ap 
preciation  of  himself.  All  his  life,  feeling  that  he  could 
do  something,  he  still  entertained  a  mournful  and  dis 
heartening  conviction  that,  on  the  whole,  he  was  doomed 
to  failure  and  disappointment.  There  was  sad  prophecy 
in  this  presentment — a  prophecy  which  he  at,  once  made 
and  fulfilled. 

We  soon  became  friends,  and,  at  last,  intimates.  I  was 
now  boarding  at  "  Ripley  V — a  good  old-fashioned  tavern, 
over  which  presided  Major  Ripley,  respected  for  revolu 
tionary  services,  an  amiable  character,  and  a  long  Conti 
nental  queue.  In  the  administration  of  the  establish 
ment  he  was  ably  supported  by  his  daughter,  Aunt  Lucy 
— the  very  genius  of  tavern  courtesy,  cookery,  and  com 
fort.  Here  Brainard  joined  me,  and  we  took  rooms  side 
by  side.  Thus,  for  more  than  a  year,  we  were  together, 
as  intimate  as  brothers.  He  was  of  a  child-like  disposi 
tion,  and  craved  constant  sympathy.  He  soon  got  into 
the  habit  of  depending  upon  me  in  many  things,  and  at 
last — especially  in  dull  weather,  or  when  he  was  sad,  or 
something  went  wrong  with  him — he  would  creep  into 
my  bed,  as  if  it  were  his  right.  At  that  period  of  gloom 
in  my  own  fortunes,  this  was  as  well  a  solace  to  me  as  to 
him.  After  my  return  from  Europe  we  resumed  these 
relations,  and  for  some  months  more  we  were  thus 
together. 

I  cannot  do  better  than  sketch  a  single  incident,  which 


166  PETER     PARLEY'S 

will  give  you  some  insight  into  Brainard's  character. 
The  scene  opens  in  Miss  Lucy's  little  back-parlor — a 
small,  cosy,  carpeted  room,  with  two  cushioned  rocking- 
chairs,  and  a  bright  hickory  fire.  It  is  a  chill  November 
night,  about  seven  o'clock  of  a  Friday  evening.  The 
Mirror — Brainard's  paper — is  to  appear  the  next  morn 
ing.  The  week  has  thus  far  passed,  and  he  has  not  writ 
ten  for  it  a  line.  How  the  days  have  gone  he  can  hardly 
tell.  He  has  read  a  little — dipped  into  Byron,  pored 
over  the  last  Waverly  novel,  and  been  to  see  his  friends  ; 
at  all  events,  he  has  got  rid  of  the  time.  He  has  not 
felt  competent  to  bend  down  to  his  work,  and  has  put  it 
off  till  the  last  moment.  No  further  delay  is  possible. 
He  is  now  not  well ;  he  has  a  severe  cold. 

Miss  Lucy,  who  takes  a  motherly  interest  in  him,  tells 
him  not  to  go  out,  and  his  own  inclinations  suggest  the 
charms  of  a  quiet  evening  in  the  rocking  chair,  by  a  good 
fire — especially  in  comparison  with  going  to  his  comfort 
less  office,  and  drudging  for  the  press.  He  lingers  till 
eight,  and  then  suddenly  rousing  himself,  by  a  desperate 
effort,  throws  on  his  cloak  and  sallies  forth.  As  was  not 
uncommon,  I  go  with  him.  A  dim  fire  is  kindled  in  the 
small  Franklin  stove  in  his  office,  and  we  sit  down. 
Brainard,  as  was  his  wont,  especially  when  he  was  in 
trouble,  falls  into  a  curious  train  of  reflections,  half  comic 
and  half  serious. 

"  Would  to  Heaven,"  he  says, "  I  were  a  slave  !  I  think 
a  slave,  with  a  good  master,  has  a  good  time  of  it.  The 
responsibility  of  taking  care  of  himself — the  most  terrible 
burden  of  life — is  put  on  his  master's  shoulders.  Madame 
Eoland,  with  a  slight  alteration,  would  have  uttered  a 
profound  truth.  She  should  have  said — '  Oh,  Liberty, 
Liberty,  thou  art  a  humbug !'  After  all,  liberty  is  the 


i 


•v>'   '  .  "--.:•' 

-  aJSi£%  ;  ^V-r    Mt*      - 

&    ..^Kr^ 


WHITTUHG. 


1'.  100. 


OWN     STOKT  167 

greatest  possible  slavery,  for  it  puts  upon  a  man  the  re 
sponsibility  of  taking  care  of  himself.  If  he  goes  wrong, 
why,  he's  condemned  !  If  a  slave  sins,  he's  only  flogged, 
and  gets  over  it,  and  there's  an  end  of  it.  Now,  if  I  could 
only  be  flogged,  and  settle  the  matter  that  way,  I  should 
be  perfectly  happy.  But  here  comes  my  tormentor." 

The  door  is  now  opened,  a  boy  with  a  touselled  head 
and  inky  countenance  enters,  saying  curtly — "  Copy,  Mr. 
Brainard !" 

"  Come  in  fifteen  minutes !"  says  the  editor,  with  a  droll 
mixture  of  fun  and  despair. 

Brainard  makes  a  few  observations,  and  sits  down  at 
his  little  narrow  pine  table — hacked  along  edges  with 
many  a  restless  penknife.  He  seems  to  notice  the 
marks,  and  pausing  a  moment,  says, — 

"  This  table  reminds  me  of  one  of  my  brother  Wil 
liam's  stories.  There  was  an  old  man  in  Groton,  who 
had  but  one  child,  and  she  was  a  daughter.  When  she 
was  about  eighteen,  several  young  men  came  to  see  her. 
At  last  she  picked  out  one  of  them,  and  desired  to  many 
him.  He  seemed  a  fit  match  enough,  but  the  father 
positively  refused  his  consent.  For  a  long  time  he  per 
sisted,  and  would  give  no  reason  for  his  conduct.  At 
last  he  took  his  daughter  aside,  and  said — '  Now,  Sarah, 
I  think  pretty  well  of  this  young  man  in  general,  but 
I've  observed  that  he's  given  •  to  whittling.  There's  no 
harm  in  that,  but  the  point  is  this :  he  whittles  and 
whittles,  and  never  makes  nothing !  Now,  I  tell  you, 
I'll  never  give  my  only  daughter  to  such  a  feller  as  that !' 
Whenever  Bill  told  this  story,  he  used  to  insinuate  that 
this  whittling  chap,  who  never  made  anything,  was  me ! 
At  any  rate,  I  think  it  would  have  suited  me  exactly." 

Some  time  passed  in  similar  talk,  when,  at  last,  Brai- 


168  PETER     PARLEY'S 

nard  turned  suddenly,  took  up  his  pen,  and  began  to 
write.  I  sat  apart,  and  left  him  to  his  work.  Some 
twenty  minutes  passed,  when,  with  a  smile  on  his  face, 
he  got  up,  approached  the  fire,  and  taking  the  candle  to 
light  his  paper,  read  as  follows : — 

"THE  PALLS   OF  NIAGAKA. 

"  The  thoughts  are  strange  that  crowd  into  my  brain, 
"While  I  look  upwards  to  thee.    It  would  seem 
As  if  God  pour'd  thee  from  his  '  hollow  hand,' 
And  hung  his  bow  upon  thy  awful  front ; 
And  spoke  in  that  loud  voice  that  seem'd  to  him 
"Who  dwelt  in  Patmos  for  his  Saviour's  sake, 
1  The  sound  of  many  waters ;'  and  had  bade 
Thy  flood  to  chronicle  the  ages  back, 
And  notch  his  cent'ries  in  the  eternal  rocks !" 

He  had  hardly  done  reading  when  the  boy  came. 
Brainard  handed  him  the  lines — on  a  small  scrap  of 
coarse  paper — and  told  him  to  come  again  in  half-an- 
hour.  Before  this  time  had  elapsed,  he  had  finished  and 
read  me  the  following  stanza : — 

"  Deep  calleth  unto  deep.     And  what  are  we 
That  hear  the  question  of  that  voice  sublime  ? 
Oh  I  what  are  all  the  notes  that  ever  rung 
Prom  war's  vain  trumpet  by  thy  thundering  side? 
Tea,  what  is  all  the  riot  man  can  make, 
In  his  short  life,  to  thy  unceasing  roar  ? 
And  yet,  bold  babbler,  what  art  thou  to  Him 
Who  drown'd  a  world,  and  heap'd  the  waters  far 
Above  its  loftiest  mountains  ?    A  light  wave, 
That  breathes  and  whispers  of  its  Maker's  might." 

These  lines  having  been  furnished,  Brainard  left  hia 
office,  and  we  returned  to  Miss  Lucy's  parlor.  He 


OWN     STORY.  169 

seemed  utterly  unconscious  of  what  he  had  done.  I 
praised  the  verses,  but  he  thought  I  only  spoke  warmly 
from  friendly  interest.  The  lines  went  forth,  and  pro 
duced  a  sensation  of  delight  over  the  whole  country. 
Almost  every  exchange  paper  that  came  to  the  office  had 
extracted  them.  Even  then  he  would  scarcely  believe 
that  he  had  done  anything  very  clever.  And  thus,  under 
these  precise  circumstances,  were  composed  the  most 
suggestive  and  sublime  stanzas  upon  Niagara  that  were 
ever  penned.  Brainard  had  never,  as  he  told  me,  been 
within  less  than  five  hundred  miles  of  the  cataract,  nor 
do  I  believe  that,  when  he  went  to  the  office,  he  had 
meditated  upon  the  subject. 

The  reader  will  see,  from  the  circumstances  I  have 
mentioned,  that  I  know  the  history  of  most  of  Brainard's 
pieces,  as  they  came  out,  from  time  to  time,  in  his  news 
paper.  Nearly  all  of  them  were  occasional — that  is, 
suggested  by  passing  events,  or  incidents  in  the  poet's 
experience. 

Early  in  the  year  1825  I  persuaded  Brainard  to  make 
a  collection  of  his  poems,  and  have  them  published.  At 
first  his  lip  curled  at  the  idea,  as  being  too  pretentious. 
He  insisted  that  he  had  done  nothing  to  justify  the  pub 
lication  of  a  volume.  Gradually  he  began  to  think  of  it, 
and,  at  length,  I  induced  him  to  sign  a  contract  author 
izing  me  to  make  arrangements  for  the  work.  He  set 
about  the  preparation,  and  at  length — after  much  lagging 
and  many  lapses — the  pieces  were  selected  and  arranged. 
When  all  was  ready,  I  persuaded  him  to  go  to  New  York 
with  me  to  settle  the  matter  with  a  publisher. 

One  anecdote,  in  addition  to  those  already  before  the 
public,  and  I  shall  close  this  sketch.     Brainard's  talent 
for  repartee  was  of  the  first  order.     On  one  occasion, 
15 


170  PETKK     PARLEY'S 

Nathan  Smith,  an  eminent  lawyer,  was  at  Ripley's  tavern, 
in  the  midst  of  a  circle  of  judges  and  lawyers  attending 
the  court.  He  was  an  Episcopalian,  and  at  this  time 
was  considered  by  his  political  adversaries — unjustly,  no 
doubt — as  the  paid  agent  of  that  persuasion,  now  clam 
oring  for  a  sum  of  money  from  the  State,  to  lay  the 
foundation  of  a  "  Bishops'  Fund."  He  was  thus  regard 
ed  somewhat  in  the  same  light  as  O'Connell,  who,  while 
he  was  the  great  patriot  leader  of  Irish  independence, 
was,  at  the  same  time,  liberally  supported  by  the  "  rint." 
By  accident,  Brainard  came  in,  and  Smith,  noticing  a 
little  feathery  attempt  at  whiskers  down  his  cheeks, 
rallied  him  upon  it. 

"  It  will  never  do,"  said  he ;  "  you  cannot  raise  it, 
Brainard.  Come,  here's  sixpence — take  that,  and  go  to 
the  barber's  and  get  it  shaved  off!  It  will  smooth  your 
cheek,  and  ease  your  conscience." 

Brainard  drew  himself  up,  and  said  with  great  dignity 
— as  Smith  held  out  the  sixpence  on  the  point  of  his 
forefinger — "No,  sir,  you  had  better  keep  it  for  the 
Bishops'  Fund !" 

In  Brainard's  editorial  career — though  he  was  negli 
gent,  dilatory,  sometimes  almost  imbecile,  from  a  sort  of 
constitutional  inertness — still  a  train  of  inextinguishable 
light  remains  to  gleam  along  his  path.  Many  a  busy, 
toiling  editor  has  filled  his  daily  columns  for  years,  with 
out  leaving  a  living  page  behind  him ;  while  Brainard, 
with  all  his  failings  and  irregularities,  has  left  a  collection 
of  gems  which  will  be  cherished  to  immortality.  And 
among  all  that  he  wrote  idly  and  recklessly,  as  it  might 
seem — there  is  not  a  line  that,  "  dying,  he  could  wish  to 
blot."  His  love  of  parents,  of  home,  of  kindred,  was 
beautiful  indeed;  his  love  of  nature,  and  especially  of 


OWN      STORY.  171 

the  scenes  of  his  childhood,  was  the  affection  of  one 
never  weaned  from  the  remembrance  of  his  mother's 
breast.  He  was  true  in  friendship,  chivalrous  in  all  that 
belonged  to  personal  honor.  I  never  heard  him  utter  a 
malignant  thought — I  never  knew  him  to  pursue  an  un 
just  design.  At  the  early  age  of  eight-and-twenty,  with 
a  submissive  spirit,  he  resigned  himself  to  death,  and  in 
pious,  gentle,  cheerful  faith,  he  departed  on  the  26th  of 
September,  1828. 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 

MY  HB8T  VISIT    TO    EUROPE — HURRICANE— ARRIVAL  AT  LIVERPOOL — LONDOJC 
— TRAVEL    ON    THE    CONTINENT — RETURN   TO    BRISTOL — INTERVIEW  WITH 

HANNAH   MORE — DESIGN    IN   TRAVELLING VISIT    TO    IRELAND   AND   SCOT- 

LAND. 

IT  was  on  the  16th  of  November,  1823,  that  I  set  sail 
in  the  "  Canada,"  Captain  Macy,  on  ray  first  visit  to 
Europe.  I  have  now  before  me  four  volumes  of  notes 
made  during  my  tour ;  which  I  might,  perhaps,  have  ven 
tured  to  publish  when  they  were  fresh ;  but  since  that 
period  the  world  has  been  inundated  with  tales  of  travels, 
I  shall  therefore  only  indulge  in  a  rapid  outline  of  my 
adventures,  and  a  few  sketches  of  men  and  things,  which 
may  perchance  be  of  interest  to  the  reader. 

Our  voyage  was,  as  usual  at  that  season  of  the  year, 
tempestuous.  As  we  approached  the  British  Islands  we 
were  beset  by  a  regular  hurricane.  On  the  5th  of  De 
cember,  the  Captain  kindly  informed  us  that  we  were 
almost  precisely  in  the  situation  of  the  "  Albion,"  the  day 
before  she  was  wrecked  on  the  rocky  headland  of  Kin- 
sale,  at  the  south-east  extremity  of  Ireland ;  an  event 
which  had  spread  a  general  gloom  throughout  the 
United  States.  As  night  set  in  we  were  struck  by  a 
squall,  and  with  difficulty  the  vessel  was  brought  round, 
BO  as  to  lie  to.  The  storm  was  fearful ;  and  the  frequent 
concussions  of  the  waves  upon  the  ship,  sounding  like 


PETER     PARLEY'S      OWN     8TORT.          178 

reports  of  artillery,  made  her  reel  and  stagger  like  a 
drunken  man.  The  morning  came  at  last,  and  the 
weather  was  fair,  but  our  deck  was  swept  of  its  boats, 
bulwarks,  and  hen-coops.  Our  old  cow  in  her  hovel,  the 
covering  of  the  steerage,  and  that  of  the  companion-way, 
were  saved.  The  next  morning  we  took  a  pilot,  and  on 
the  8th  of  December  entered  the  dock  at  Liverpool. 

I  had  suffered  fearfully  by  sea-sickness,  and  had 
scarcely  strength  to  walk  ashore.  I  felt  such  horror — 
such  disgust  of  the  sea — that  I  could  easily  have  pledged 
myself  never  to  venture  upon  it  again.  However,  this 
all  passed  away  like  a  dream :  my  strength  revived ;  and 
even  my  constitution,  shattered  by  long  suffering,  seemed 
to  be  renovated.  With  the  return  of  health  and  spirits, 
my  journey  to  London  was  delightful.  Though  it  was 
December,  the  landscape  was  intensely  green,  while  the 
atmosphere  was  dark  as  twilight.  And  this  was  Eng 
land  !  Oh,  what  emotions  filled  my  breast  as  I  looked 
on  Kenilworth,  Warwick,  and  Lichfield,  and  at  last  on 
London ! 

I  remained  in  the  latter  place  about  a  month,  and  then 
went  to  Paris.  In  April  I  visited  Switzerland  and  a  por 
tion  of  Germany,  and  followed  the  Rhine  to  Cologne. 
Thence  I  travelled  through  Flanders  and  Holland,  and 
taking  a  sloop  at  Rotterdam,  swung  down  the  Maese,  and 
in  May  reached  London  again.  I  soon  after  departed  for 
Bristol,  taking  Salisbury  and  Stonehenge  on  my  way. 
Having  reached  that  city,  and  seen  its  sights,  I  hired  a 
post-coach,  and  went  to  Barley-wood,  some  ten  miles 
distant.  Hannah  More  was  still  living  there!  The 
house  was  a  small  thatched  edifice — half  cottage  and 
half  villa — tidily  kept,  and  garnished  with  vines  and 
trellises.  Its  site  was  on  a  gentle  hill,  sloping  to  the 
15* 


...   . 

174  PSTEE     PARLEY'S 

south-east,  and  commanding  a  charming  view  over  the 
undulating  country  around,  including  the  adjacent  village 
of  Wrington,  with  a  wide  valley  sloping  to  the  Bristol 
Channel ;  the  latter  sparkling  in  the  distance,  and 
bounded  by  the  Welsh  mountains  in  the  far  horizon. 
Behind  the  house,  and  on  the  crown  of  the  hill,  was  a 
small  copse,  threaded  with  neat  gravel  walks,  and  at  par 
ticular  points  embellished  with  objects  of  interest.  In 
one  place  there  was  a  little  rustic  temple,  with  this  motto 
— "Audi,  Hospes,  contemnere  opes;"  in  another,  there 
was  a  stone  monument,  erected  to  the  memory  of  Bishop 
Porteus,  who  had  been  a  particular  friend  of  the  proprie 
tor  of  the  place.  A  little  further  on  I  found  another 
monument,  with  this  inscription :  "  To  John  Locke, 
born  in  this  village,  this  monument  is  erected  by  Mrs. 
Montague,  and  presented  to  Hannah  More"  From  this 
sequestered  spot  an  artificial  opening  was  cut  through  the 
foliage  of  the  trees,  giving  a  view  of  the  house — about  a 
mile  distant — in  which  Locke  was  born  ! 

Mrs.  More  was  now  seventy-nine  years  of  age,  and  was 
very  infirm,  having  kept  her  room  for  two  years.  She 
received  me  with  great  cordiality,  and  mentioned  several 
Americans  who  had  visited  her,  and  others,  with  whom 
she  had  held  correspondence.  Her  mind  and  feelings 
were  alive  to  every  subject  that  was  suggested.  She 
spoke  very  freely  of  her  writings  and  her  career.  I  told 
her  of  the  interest  I  had  taken,  when  a  child,  in  the 
story  of  the  Shepherd  of  Salisbury  Plain  ;  upon  which 
she  recounted  its  history,  remarking  that  the  character 
of  the  hero  was  modelled  from  life,  though  the  incidents 
were  fictitious.  Her  tract,  called  Village  Politics,  by 
Will  Chip,  was  written  at  the  request  of  the  British  Min 
istry,  and  two  million  copies  were  sold  the  first  year, 


OWN     8TORT.  175 

She  showed  me  copies  of  Calebs  in  Search  of  a  Wife — 
the  most  successful  of  her  works — in  French  and  Ger 
man  ;  and  a  copy  of  one  of  her  Sacred  Dramas,  Moses  in 
the  Bulrushes,  on  palm-leaves,  in  the  Cingalese  tongue ; 
it  having  been  translated  into  that  language  by  the  Mis 
sionary  School  at  Ceylon.  She  showed  me  also  the 
knife  with  which  the  leaf  had  been  prepared,  and  the 
scratches  made  in  it  to  receive  the  ink.  She  expressed  a 
warm  interest  in  America,  and  stated  that  Wilberforce 
had  always  exerted  himself  to  establish  and  maintain 
good  relations  between  Great  Britain  and  our  country.  I 
suggested  to  her  that,  in  the  United  States,  the  general 
impression — that  of  the  great  mass  of  the  pepole — was 
that  the  English  were  unfriendly  to  us.  She  said  it  was 
not  so.  I  replied  that  the  Americans  all  read  the  Eng 
lish  newspapers,  and  generally  the  products  of  the  British 
press ;  that  feelings  of  dislike,  disgust,  animosity,  cer 
tainly  pervaded  most  of  these  publications ;  and  it  was 
natural  to  suppose  that  these  were  the  reflections  of  pub 
lic  opinion  in  Great  Britain  :  at  all  events,  our  people  re 
garded  them  as  such,  and  hence  inferred  that  England 
was  our  enemy.  She  expressed  great  regret  at  this 
state  of  things,  and  said  all  good  people  should  strive  to 
keep  peace  between  the  two  countries :  to  all  which  I 
warmly  assented. 

My  interview  with  this  excellent  lady  was,  on  the 
whole,  most  gratifying.  Regarding  her  as  one  of  the 
greatest  benefactors  of  the  age — as,  indeed,  one  of  the 
most  remarkable  women  that  had  ever  lived — I  looked 
upon  her  not  only  with  veneration,  but  affection.  Be 
sides,  I  felt  that  I  owed  her  a  special  debt ;  and  my  visit 
to  her  was  almost  like  a  pilgrimage  to  the  shrine  of  a 
livinity.  When  I  left  America,  I  had  it  in  mind  to  ren- 


176  PETER     PARLEY'S 

der  my  travels  subservient  to  a  desire  I  had  long  enter 
tained  of  making  an  improvement  in  books  for  the  young. 
I  had  sought  in  London,  France,  and  Germany,  for  works 
that  might  aid  my  design.  It  is  true  I  had  little  success  ; 
for  while  scientific  and  classical  education  was  sedulously 
encouraged  on  the  Continent,  as  well  as  in  England,  it 
seemed  to  be  thought  that  Dilworth  and  Mother  Goose 
had  done  all  that  could  be  done.  In  this  interview  with 
Mrs.  More  I  had  the  subject  still  in  mind  ;  and  discerning 
by  what  she  had  accomplished  the  vast  field  that  was 
open,  and  actually  inviting  cultivation,  I  began  from  this 
time  to  think  of  attempting  to  realize  the  project  I  had 
formed.  It  is  true  that,  in  some  respects,  the  example  I 
had  just  contemplated  differed  from  my  own  scheme. 
Hannah  More  had  written  chiefly  for  the  grown-up 
masses ;  whereas  my  plan  was  to  begin  further  back — 
with  the  children.  Her  means,  however,  seemed  adapted 
to  my  purpose :  her  success,  to  encourage  my  attempt. 
She  had  discovered  that  truth  could  be  made  attractive 
to  simple  minds.  Fiction  was,  indeed,  often  her  vehicle ; 
but  it  was  not  her  end.  The  great  charm  of  these  works, 
which  had  captivated  the  million,  was  their  verisimilitude. 
Was  there  not,  then,  a  natural  relish  for  truth  in  all 
minds ;  or,  at  least,  was  there  not  a  way  of  presenting  it, 
which  made  it  even  more  interesting  than  romance?  Did 
not  children  love  truth  ?  If  so,  was  it  necessary  to  feed 
them  on  fiction  ?  Could  not  History,  Natural  History, 
Geography,  Biography,  become  the  elements  of  juvenile 
works,  in  place  of  fairies  and  giants,  and  mere  monsters 
of  the  imagination  ?  These  were  the  inquiries  that  from 
this  time  filled  my  mind. 

Taking    leave   of   Barley-wood   and    its    interesting 
occupant,  I  traversed  Wales,  and   embarking  at  Holy- 


OWN     8T  O  RT.  177 

head,  passed  over  to  Ireland.  Having  seen  Dublin,  with 
the  extraordinary  contrasts  of  sumptuousness  in  some  of 
its  streets  and  edifices,  with  the  fearful  squalidness  and 
poverty  in  others,  I  passed  on  to  the  North ;  and  after 
visiting  the  Giant's  Causeway  returned  to  Belfast,  and 
embarked  in  a  steamboat  for  Greenock.  Thence  I  pro 
ceeded  toward  Dumbarton,  and  in  the  early  evening,  as  I 
approached  the  town  in  a  small  steamer,  I  realized  in  the 
distance  before  me  the  scene  of  the  song, — 

"  The  sun  has  gone  down  o'er  the  lofty  Ben  Lomond, 
And  left  the  red  clouds  to  preside  o'er  the  scene." 

On  the  morrow  I  went  to  Loch  Lomond,  crossing  the 
lake  in  a  steamboat ;  thence  on  foot  to  Callender ;  and 
spent  two  days  around  Loch  Katrine,  amid  the  scenery 
of  the  Lady  of  the  Lake.  With  a  copy  of  that  poem  in 
my  hand,  which  I  had  bought  of  a  countryman  on  the 
borders  of  Loch  Lomond,  I  easily  traced  out  the  principal 
landmarks  of  the  story :  "  Ellen's  Isle,"  nearly  in  the 
middle  of  the  lake ;  on  the  northern  shore,  "  the  Silver 
Strand,"  where  the  maiden  met  Fitz-James ;  far  to  the 
east,  Benain,  rearing  its  "  forehead  fair  "  to  the  sky  ;  to 
the  south,  the  rocky  pyramid  called  "  Roderick's  Watch- 
tower  ;"  and  still  beyond,  the  "  Goblin's  Cave."  Leaving 
the  lake,  I  passed  through  the  Trosachs,  a  wild,  rocky 
glen,  and  the  scene  of  the  most  startling  events  in  the 
poem.  At  last  I  came  to  Coilantogle  Ford,  where  the 
deadly  struggle  took  place  between  the  two  heroes  of  the 
poem — Roderick  and  Fitz-James.  Finally,  I  went  to  the 
borders  of  Loch  Achray,  a  placid  sheet  of  water,  beautiful 
by  nature,  but  still  more  enchanting  through  the  delight 
ful  associations  of  poetic  art. 


178        PETER     PARLEY'S     OWN      BTORY. 

"  The  minstrel  came  once  more  to  view 
The  eastern  ridge  of  Benvenue, 
For,  ere  he  parted,  he  would  say 
Farewell  to  lovely  Loch  Achray. 
Where  shall  he  find,  in  foreign  land, 
So  lone  a  lake,  so  sweet  a  strand  1" 
*  *  *  *  * 


But  I  must  forbear.  I  have  pledged  myself  not  to 
weary  my  reader  with  descriptions  of  scenery,  and 
especially  with  that  which  is  familiar  to  every  one.  I 
will  try  not  to  sin  again :  at  least  till  I  get  out  of  Scot 
land.  Having  spent  two  days  in  this  region  of  poetry 
and  romance,  I  left  for  Glasgow,  and  at  last  reached 
Edinburgh. 


OHAPTEE   XIX. 


THK  EDINBURGH  LIONS— LITEBABY  CELEBBITIES — JEFFBEY  IN  THE  TOUCH— 
BIB  •WALTKR  AT  THB  DESK — HIDING  WIIH  SCOTCH  LADIES— BEAUTIFUL 
SCKNKRY — A  SCOTCH  MIST. 


EDINBURGH  was  then  decidedly  the  literary  metropolis 
of  the  three  kingdoms ;  not  through  the  amount  of  its 
productions,  but  their  superiority.  I  had  several  letters 
of  introduction  ;  among  them  one  to  Blackwood  ;  another 

to  Constable ;  another  to  Miss  Y .  The  latter  proved 

fortunate.  Her  father  was  a  Writer  to  the  Signet ;  an 
elderly  gentleman  of  excellent  position,  and  exceedingly 
fond  of  showing  off  "  Auld  Keekie."  Well,  indeed, 
might  he  be ;  for  of  all  the  cities  I  have  seen,  it  is,  in 
many  respects,  the  most  interesting.  I  am  told  it  is 
gloomy  in  winter ;  but  now  it  was  summer.  And  in 
these  high  latitudes,  nature  makes  ample  amends  in  this 
season  for  the  gloom  and  inclemency  of  the  winter. 

The  day  after  delivering  my  letters,  Mr.  Y called 

on  me,  and  showed  me  the  lions  of  the  town.  Many  of 
them — all,  indeed — were  interesting ;  but  I  pass  them  by, 
and  shall  only  linger  a  short  time  at  the  Court  of  Ses 
sions,  which  is  the  supreme  civil  court  of  Scotland. 
This,  with  the  High  Court  of  Justiciary — the  supreme 
criminal  court — forms  the  College  of  Justice,  and  consti 
tutes  the  supreme  tribunal  of  Scotland.  Their  sessions 


180  PETER     PARLEY'S 

are  held  in  the  old  Parliament  House,  situated  in  tho 
centre  of  the  Old  Town. 

We  entered  a  large  Gothic  hall,  opening,  as  I  observed, 
into  various  contiguous  apartments.  Here  I  saw  a  con 
siderable  number  of  persons,  mostly  lawyers  and  their 
clients  ;  some  sauntering,  some  meditating,  some  gathered 
in  groups  and  conversing  together.  There  was  a  large 
number  of  people  distributed  through  the  several  apart 
ments,  and  in  the  grand  hall  there  was  a  pervading  hum 
of  voices,  which  rose  and  rumbled,  and  died  away  amid 
the  groinings  of  the  roof  above. 

Among  the  persons  in  this  hall,  a  man  some  thirty 
years  of  age,  tall  and  handsome,  dressed  in  a  gown,  but 
without  the  wig,  attracted  my  particular  attention.  He 
was  walking  apart,  and  there  was  a  certain  look  of  cold 
ness  and  haughtiness  about  him.  Nevertheless,  for  some 
undefinable  reason,  he  excited  in  me  a  lively  curiosity. 

"  Who  is  that  gentleman  ?"  said  I,  to  my  guide. 

"That  large,  noble-looking  person,  with  a  gown  and 
wig  ?  That  is  Cranstoun,  one  of  our  first  lawyers,  and 
the  brother-in-law  of  Dugald  Stuart." 

"No:  that  person  beyond,  and  to  the  left?  He  is 
without  a  wig." 

"  Oh,  that's  Cockburn ;  a  fiery  Whig,  and  one  of  tho 
keenest  fellows  we  have  at  the  bar." 

"Yes:  but  I  mean  that  younger  person  near  the 
corner." 

"  Oh,  that  small,  red-faced,  freckled  man  ?  Why, 
that's  Moncrief ;  a  very  sound  lawyer.  His  father,  Sir 
Harry  Moncrief,  is  one  of  the  most  celebrated  divines  in 
Scotland." 

"  No,  no ;  it  is  that  tall,  handsome,  proud-looking 
person,  walking  by  himself." 


OWN      8TO  BY  .  181 

"  Oh,  I  see :  that's  Lockhart,  Sir  Walter  Scott's  son- 
in-law.  Would  you  like  to  know  him  ?" 

"  Yes." 

And  so  I  was  introduced  to  a  man  who,  at  that  time, 
was  hardly  less  an  object  of  interest  to  me  than  Scott 
himself.  Though  a  lawyer  by  profession,  he  had  devoted 
himself  to  literature,  and  was  now  in  the  very  height  of 
his  career.  Peter's  Letters  to  his  Kinsfolk,  Valerius,  and 
other  works,  had  given  him  a  prominent  rank  as  a  man 
of  talent ;  and,  besides,  in  1820,  he  had  married  the 
eldest  daughter  of  the  "  Great  Unknown."  My  conver 
sation  with  him  was  brief  at  this  time,  but  I  afterwards 
became  well  acquainted  with  him. 

My  guide  now  led  me  into  one  of  the  side-rooms, 
where  I  saw  a  judge  and  jury,  and  a  lawyer  addressing 
them.  The  latter  was  a  very  small  man,  without  gown 
or  wig,  apparently  about  forty  years  of  age,  though  he 
might  be  somewhat  older.  He  was  of  dark  complexion, 
with  an  eye  of  intense  blackness,  and  almost  painfully- 
piercing  expression.  His  motions  were  quick  and 
energetic,  his  voice  sharp  and  penetrating;  his  general, 
aspect  exciting  curiosity  rather  than  affection.  He  was 
speaking  energetically,  and  as  we  approached  the  bar  my 
conductor  said  to  me,  in  a  whisper,  "  Jeffrey  !" 

We  paused,  and  listened  intently.  The  case  in  itself 
seemed  dry  enough :  something,  I  believe,  about  a  stop 
page  in  transitu.  But  Jeffrey's  pleading  was  admirable ; 
clear,  progressive,  logical.  Occasionally,  in  fixing  upon 
a  weak  point  of  his  adversary,  he  displayed  a  leopard- 
like  spring  of  energy,  altogether  startling.  He  seized 
upon  a  certain  point  in  the  history  of  the  case,  and 
insisted  that  the  property  in  question  rested  at  that  period 
in  the  hands  of  the  defendant's  agent,  for  at  least  a  fort- 
16 


182  PETER    PARLEY'S 

night.  This  he  claimed  to  be  fatal  to  his  adversary's  plea. 
Having  stated  the  facts,  with  a  clearness  which  seemed 
to  prove  them,  he  said,  turning  with  startling  quickness 
upon  his  antagonist, — "  Now,  I  ask  my  learned  brother 
to  tell  me,  what  was  the  state  of  the  soul  during  that 
fortnight  ?"  To  a  jury  of  Scotch  Presbyterians,  familiar 
with  theological  mataphysics,  this  allusion  was  exceedingly 
pertinent  and  effective. 

We  passed  into  another  room.  Three  full-wigged 
judges  were  seated  upon  a  lofty  bench,  and  beneath  them, 
at  a  little  table  in  front,  was  a  large  man,  bent  down  and 
writing  laboriously.  As  I  approached,  I  caught  a  side- 
view  of  his  face.  There  was  no  mistaking  him  :  it  was 
Sir  Walter  himself! 

Was  it  not  curious  to  see  the  most  renowned  personage 
in  the  three  kingdoms  sitting  at  the  very  feet  of  these  men  : 
they  the  court,  and  he  the  clerk  ?  They  were  indeed  all 
"  lords,"  and  their  individual  names  were  suggestive  to 
the  ear :  one  was  Robertson,  son  of  the  historian  of 
Charles  V. ;  another  was  Gillies,  brother  of  the  renowned 
.  Grecian  scholar  of  that  name ;  another,  Mackenzie,  son 
of  the  author  of  the  Man  of  Feeling.  These  are  high 
titles  ;  but  what  were  they  to  the  author  of  Waverley  ? 

Mr.  Y introduced  me  to  him  at  once,  breaking  in 

upon  his  occupation  with  easy  familiarity.  As  he  arose 
from  his  seat,  I  was  surprised  at  his  robust,  vigorous 
frame.  He  was  very  nearly  six  feet  in  height,  full-chested, 
and  of  a  farmer-like  aspect.  His  complexion  seemed  to 
have  been  originally  sandy,  but  now  his  hair  was  grey. 
He  had  the  rough,  freckled,  weather-beaten  skin  of  a  man 
who  is  much  in  the  open  air;  his  eye  was  small  and 
grey,  and  peering  out  keenly  and  inquisitively  from  be 
neath  a  heavy  brow,  edged  with  something  like  grey, 


OWN     8TOEY.  183 

twisted  bristles :  the  whole  expression  of  his  face,  how 
ever,  was  exceedingly  agreeable. 

He  greeted  me  kindly,  the  tone  of  his  voice  being 
hearty,  yet  with  a  very  decided  Scotch  accent.  A  few 
commonplace  remarks,  and  one  or  two  inquiries  as  to  my 
acquaintance  with  American  literary  men,  was  all  that 
passed  between  us  on  this  occasion  ;  but  subsequently,  as 
will  be  seen,  I  was  more  highly  favored. 

One  morning  I  found  a  note  at  my  hotel,  from  Miss 

Y ,  inviting  me  to  breakfast.  I  went  at  ten,  and  we 

had  a  pleasant  chat.  She  then  proposed  a  ride,  to 
which  I  acceded.  She  was  already  in  her  riding- 
habit  ;  so  without  delay  we  went  forth,  calling  first  upon 
Mrs.  Russell.  She  led  us  into  another  room,  and  there, 
on  the  floor,  in  a  romp  with  her  two  boys,  was  Francis 
Jeffrey !  Think  of  the  first  lawyer  in  Scotland,  the  law 
giver  of  the  great  republic  of  letters  throughout  Chris 
tendom,  having  a  rough-and-tumble  on  the  floor,  as  if  he 
were  himself  a  boy !  Let  others  think  as  they  will,  I 
loved  him  from  that  moment ;  and  ever  after,  as  I  read 
his  criticisms,  cutting  and  scorching  as  they  often  were, 
I  fancied  that  I  could  still  see  a  kind  and  genial  spirit 
shining  through  them  all.  At  least  it  is  certain  that,  be 
hind  his  editorial  causticity,  there  was  in  private  life  a 
fund  of  gentleness  and  geniality  which  endeared  him  to 
all  who  enjoyed  his  intimacy.  I  was  now  introduced  to 
him,  and  he  seemed  a  totally  different  being  from  the 
fierce  and  fiery  gladiator  of  the  legal  arena,  where  I  had 
before  seen  him.  His  manners  were  gentle  and  gentle 
manly  :  polite  to  the  ladies  and  gracious  to  me. 

We  found  Mrs.  Russell  in  a  riding-dress,  and  prepared 
to  accompany  us  in  our  excursion.  Taking  leave  of  Mr. 
Jeffrey,  we  went  to  the  stable,  and  having  mounted, 


184  PETER     PARLEY'S 

walked  our  steeds  gently  out  of  the  town  by  Holyrood, 
and  to  the  east  of  Arthur's  seat,  leaving  Portobello  on 
the  left.  We  rode  steadily,  noting  a  few  objects  as  we 
passed,  until  at  last,  reaching  an  elevated  mound,  we 
paused,  and  the  ladies  directed  my  attention  to  the  scenes 
around.  We  were  some  two  miles  south  of  the  town, 
upon  one  of  the  slopes  of  the  Braid  Hills.  What  a  view 
was  before  us !  The  city,  a  vast  smoking  hive,  to  the 
north  ;  and  to  the  right,  Arthur's  Seat,  bald  and  blue, 
seeming  to  rise  up  and  almost  peep  into  its  streets  and 
chimneys.  Over  and  beyond  all  was  the  sea.  The  whole 
area  between  the  point  where  we  stood  and  that  vast 
azure  line,  blending  with  the  sky,  was  a  series  of  abrupt 
hills  and  dimpling  valleys,  threaded  by  a  network  of 
highways  and  byways  ;  honeycombed  in  spots  by  cities 
and  villages,  and  elsewhere  sprinkled  with  country  seats. 

It  is  an  unrivalled  scene  of  varied  beauty  and  interest. 
The  natural  site  of  Edinburgh  is  remarkable,  consisting 
of  three  rocky  ledges,  steepling  over  deep  ravines. 
These  have  all  been  modified  by  art ;  in  one  place  a  lake 
has  been  dried  up,  and  is  now  covered  with  roads, 
bridges,  tenements,  gardens,  and  lawns.  The  sides  of  the 
cliffs  are  in  some  instances  covered  with  masses  of  build 
ings,  occasionally  rising  tier  above  tier — in  one  place  pre 
senting  a  line  of  houses  a  dozen  stories  in  height !  The 
city  is  divided  by  a  deep  chasm  into  two  distinct  parts  : 
the  Old  Town,  dark  and  smoky,  and  justifying  the  popular 
appellation  of  "  Auld  Reekie ;"  the  other,  the  New 
Town,  with  the  fresh  architecture  and  the  rich  and  elab 
orate  embellishments  of  a  modern  city.  Nearly  from  the 
centre  of  the  Old  Town  rises  the  Castle,  three  hundred 
and  eighty  feet  above  the  level  of  the  sea ;  on  one  side 
looking  down  almost  perpendicularly,  two  hundred  feet 


OWN     STORY.  186 

into  the  vale  beneath ;  on  the  other,  holding  communica 
tion  with  the  streets  by  means  of  a  winding  pathway. 
In  the  new  town  is  Calton  Hill,  rich  with  monuments  of 
art  and  memorials  of  history.  From  these  two  command 
ing  positions  the  views  are  unrivalled. 

But  I  forget  that  I  have  taken  you  to  the  Braid  Hills. 
My  amiable  guides  directed  my  attention  to  various  ob 
jects — some  far  and  some  near,  and  all  with  names 
familiar  to  history,  or  song,  or  romance.  Yonder  mass 
of  dun  and  dismal  ruins  was  Craigmillar  Castle,  once  the 
residence  of  Queen  Mary.  Nearly  in  the  same  direction, 
and  not  remote,  is  the  cliff,  above  whose  bosky  sides  peer 
out  the  massive  ruins  of  Roslin  Castle;  further  south  are 
glimpses  of  Dalkieth  Palace,  the  sumptuous  seat  of  the 
Duke  of  Buccleuch ;  there  is  the  busy  little  village  of 
Lasswade,  which  takes  the  name  of  "  Gandercleugh"  in 
the  Tales  of  my  Landlord ;  yonder  winds  the  Esk,  and 
there  the  Galawater — both  familiar  in  many  a  song ;  and 
there  is  the  scenery  of  the  Gentle  Shepherd,  presenting 
the  very  spot  where  that  inimitable  colloquy  took  place 
between  Peggy  and  her  companion  Jenny, — ; 

"  Gae  farer  up  the  burn  to  Habbie's  How 
Where  a'  the  sweets  o'  spring  an'  summer  grow : 
Between  twa  birks,  out  o'er  a  little  linn, 
The  water  fa's  and  makes  a  singan  din  : 
A  pool,  breast  deep,  beneath  as  clear  as  glass, 
Kisses  wi'  easy  whirls  the  bordering  grass. 
We'll  end  our  washing  while  the  morning's  cool , 
And  when  the  day  grows  hot  we'll  to  the  pool, 
There  wash  oursels — it's  healthful  now  hi  May, 
An'  sweetly  caller  on  sae  warm  a  day." 

While  we  were  surveying  these  scenes  the  rain  began 
to   fall  in  a  fine,  insinuating  mizzle ;  soon  large  drops 
16* 

I 


186      PETER     PARLEY'S      OWN     STORY. 

pattered  through,  the  fog,  and  at  last  there  was  a 
drenching  shower.  I  supposed  the  ladles  would  seek 
some  shelter ;  not  they :  accustomed  to  all  the  humors 
of  this  drizzly  climate,  and  of  course  defying  them.  They 
pulled' off  their  green  veils,  and  stuffed  them  into  their 
saddle-pockets :  then  chirruping  to  their  steeds,  they 
sped  along  the  road,  as  if  mounted  on  broomsticks.  I 
was  soon  wet  through,  and  so,  doubtless,  were  they. 
However,  they  took  to  it  as  ducks  to  a  pond.  On  we 
went,  the  water — accelerated  by  our  speed — spouting  in 
torrents  from  our  stirrups.  In  all  my  days  I  had  never 
such  an  adventure.  And  the  coolness  with  which  the 
ladies  took  it,  that  was  the  most  remarkable.  Indeed,  it 
was  provoking ;  for  as  they  would  not  accept  sympathy, 
of  course  they  could  not  give  it,  though  my  reeking  con 
dition  would  have  touched  any  other  heart  than  theirs. 
On  we  went,  till  at  last,  coming  to  the  top  of  the  hill,  we 
suddenly  cropped  out  into  the  sunshine,  the  shower  still 
scudding  along  the  valley  beneath  us.  We  continued 
our  ride,  getting  once  more  soaked  on  our  way,  and 
again  drying  in  the  sun.  At  last  we  reached  home,  hav 
ing  made  a  circuit  of  fifteen  miles.  Scarcely  a  word  was 
said  of  the  rain.  I  saw  the  ladies  to  their  residences,  and 
was  thankful  when  I  found  myself  once  more  in  my  hotel. 
As  a  just  moral  of  this  adventure,  I  suggest  to  any 
American,  who  may  ride  with  Scotch  ladies  around  Edin 
burgh,  not  to  go  forth  in  his  best  dress-coat,  and  panta 
loons  without  straps. 


CHAPTEK    XX. 

BLACKWOOD— THE    GENERAL    ASSEMBLY — SIB  WALTER  SCOTT — HE.   AND  MBS. 
LOCKHABT— ORIGIN  OF  "  TAM  O'SUANTEB  " — LAST  WOEDS  OT  SCOTT. 

I  DELIVERED  my  letter  of  introduction  to  Blackwood, 
and  h  e  treated  me  very  kindly.  I  found  him  an  exceedingly 
intelligent  and  agreeable  gentleman.  The  Magazine 
which  bears  his  name  was  then  in  its  glory,  and  of  course 
a  part  of  its  radiance  shone  on  him.  He  was  a  man  of 
excellent  judgment  in  literary  matters,  and  his  taste,  no 
doubt,  contributed  largely  to  the  success  of  the  Magazine. 

Of  course  I  was  gratified  at  receiving  from  him  a  note, 
inviting  me  to  dine  with  him  the  next  day.  His  house 
was  on  the  south  of  the  old  town,  nearly  two  miles  dis 
tant.  The  persons  present  were  such  as  I  should  myself 
have  selected  :  among  them  Lockhart  and  James  Ballan- 
tyne.  I  sat  next  the  latter,  and  found  him  exceedingly 
agreeable  and  gentlemanlike.  He  was  a  rather  large 
man,  handsome,  smooth  in  person  and  manner,  and  very 
well  dressed.  It  must  be  remembered,  that  at  this  time 
Scott  did  not  acknowledge  that  he  was  the  author  of  the 
Waverley  novels,  nor  did  his  friends.  Perhaps  the  mys 
tery  was  even  promoted  by  them  ;  for,  no  doubt,  it  added 
to  the  interest  excited  by  his  works.  However,  the  veil 
was  not  closely  preserved  in  the  circle  of  intimacy.  Bal- 
lantyne  said  to  me,  in  the  course  of  a  conversation  which 


188  PETBB     PARLEY'S 

turned  upon  the  popularity  of  authors,  as  indicated  by 
the  sale  of  their  works, — "  We  have  now  in  course  of 
preparation  forty  thousand  volumes  of  Scott's  poems  and 
the  works  of  the  author  of  Waverley :"  evidently  inti 
mating  the  identity  of  their  authorship. 

The  next  day  I  went  to  St.  Giles's  Church,  to  see  the 
General  Assembly,  then  holding  its  annual  session  there. 
This  body  consisted  of  nearly  four  hundred  members, 
chosen  by  different  parishes,  boroughs,  and  universities. 
The  sessions  are  attended  by  a  Commissioner  appointed  by 
the  Crown,  but  he  is  seated  outside  of  the  area  assigned  to 
the  Assembly,  and  has  no  vote,  and  no  right  of  debate. 
He  sits  under  a  canopy,  with  the  insignia  of  royalty,  and 
a  train  of  gaily-dressed  pages.  He  opens  the  sessions  in 
the  name  of  the  King,  the  Head  of  the  Church  :  the 
Moderator  then  opens  it  in  the  name  of  the  Lord  Jesus 
Christ,  the  only  true  Head  of  the  Church!  It  appears 
that  the  Scotch,  in  bargaining  for  a  union  with  England, 
took  good  care  to  provide  for  their  religious  indepen 
dence,  and  this  they  still  jealously  preserve. 

The  aspect  of  the  Assembly  was  similar  to  that  of  the 
House  of  Commons,  though  somewhat  graver.  I  ob 
served  that  the  debates  were  often  stormy,  with  scraping 
of  the  floor,  laughing  aloud,  and  cries  of  "  Hear,  hear  !" 
The  members  were,  in  fact,  quite  disorderly,  showing  at 
least  as  little  regard  for  decorum  as  ordinary  legislatures. 
Sir  Walter  Scott  once  remarked,  in  my  hearing,  that  it 
had  never  yet  been  decided  how  many  more  than  six 
members  could  speak  at  once  ! 

The  persons  here  pointed  out  to  me  as  celebrities  were 
Dr.  Chalmers,  the  famous  pulpit  orator;  Dr.  Cook,  the 
ecclesiastical  historian  ;  and  Dr.  Baird,  principal  of  the 
University.  The  first  of  these  was  now  at  the  height  of 


OWN      8  T  O  R  V  .  189 

nis  fame.  He  had  already  begun  those  reforms  which, 
Rome  years  later,  resulted  in  a  disruption  of  the  Scottish 
Church. 

A  few  days  after  the  dinner  at  Mr.  Blackwood's  I  dined 
with  Mr.  Lockhart.  Besides  the  host  and  hostess,  there 
were  present  Sir  Walter  Scott,  his  son,  Charles  Scott, 
Mr.  Blackwood,  and  three  or  four  other  persons.  At 
dinner  I  sat  next  Sir  Walter.  Everything  went  off 
pleasantly,  with  the  usual  ease,  hospitality,  and  heartiness 
of  an  English  dinner. 

After  the  ladies  had  retired  the  conversation  became 
general  and  animated.  Byron  was  the  engrossing  topic. 
Sir  Walter  spoke  of  him  with  the  deepest  feeling  of  ad 
miration  and  regret.  A  few  weeks  before,  on  the  receipt 
of  the  news  of  his  death,  he  had  written  an  obituary 
notice  of  him,  in  which  he  compared  him  to  the  snn, 
withdrawn  from  the  heavens  at  the  very  moment  when 
every  telescope  was  levelled  to  discover  either  his  glory 
or  his  spots. 

Lockhart  and  Blackwood  both  told  stories,  and  we 
passed  a  pleasant  half  hour.  The  wine  was  at  last 
rather  low,  and  our  host  ordered  the  servant  to  bring 
more.  Upon  which  Scott  said,  "  No,  no,  Lokert " — such 
was  his  pronunciation  of  his  son-in-law's  name — "  we 
have  had  enough :  let  us  go  and  see  the  ladies."  And 
so  we  gathered  to  the  parlor. 

'Mrs.  Lockhart  spoke  with  great  interest  of  Washing 
ton  Irving,  who  had  visited  the  family  at  Abbotsford. 
She  said  that  he  slept  in  a  room  which  looked  out  on  the 
Tweed.  In  the  morning,  when  he  came  down  to  break 
fast,  he  was  very  pale,  and  being  asked  the  reason,  con 
fessed  that  he  had  not  been  able  to  sleep.  The  sight  of 
the  Tweed  from  his  window,  and  the  consciousness  oi 


190  PETER     PARLEY'S 

being  at  Abbotsford,  so  filled  his  imagination,  so  excited 
his  feelings,  as  to  deprive  him  of  slumber. 

Our  lively  hostess  was  requested  to  give  us  some  music, 
and  instantly  complied — the  harp  being  her  instrument. 
She  sang  Scotch  airs,  and  played  several  pibrochs,  all 
with  taste  and  feeling.  Her  range  of  tunes  seemed  in 
exhaustible.  Her  father  sat  by,  and  entered  heartily  into 
the  performances.  He  beat  time  vigorously  with  his 
lame  leg,  and  frequently  helped  out  a  chorus,  the  hearti- 
nese  of  his  tones  making  up  for  some  delinquencies  in 
tune  and  time.  Often  he  made  remarks  upon  the  songs, 
and  told  anecdotes  respecting  them.  When  a  certain 
pibroch  had  been  played,  he  said  it  reminded  him  of  the 
first  time  he  ever  saw  Miss  Edgeworth.  There  had  come 
to  Abbotsford  a  wild  Gaelic  peasant  from  the  neighbor 
hood  of  Staffa,  and  it  was  proposed  to  him  to  sing  a 
a  pibroch  common  in  that  region.  He  had  consented, 
but  required  the  whole  party  present  to  sit  in  a  circle  on 
the  floor,  while  he  should  sing  the  song,  and  perform  a 
certain  pantomimic  accompaniment,  in  the  centre.  All 
was  accordingly  arranged  in  the  great  hall,  and  the  per 
former  had  just  begun  his  wild  chant,  when  in  walked  a 
small  but  stately  lady,  and  announced  herself  as  Miss 
Edgeworth ! 

Mrs.  Lockhart  asked  me  about  the  American  Indians, 
expressing  great  curiosity  concerning  them.  I  told  the 
story  of  one  who  was  tempted  to  go  into  the  rapids  of 
the  Niagara  river,  just  above  the  Falls,  for  a  bottle  of 
rum.  This  he  took  with  him,  and  having  swam  out  to  the 
point  agreed  upon,  he  turned  back  and  attempted  to  re 
gain  the  land.  For  a  long  time  the  result  was  doubtful : 
he  struggled  powerfully,  but  in  vain ;  inch  by  inch  he  reced 
ed  from  the  shore ;  and  at  last,  finding  his  doom  sealed 


OWN     STORY.  191 

he  raised  himself  above  the  water,  wrenched  the  cork 
from  the  bottle,  and  putting  the  latter  to  his  lips,  yielded 
to  the  current,  and  thus  went  down  to  his  doom. 

Sir  Walter  then  said  that  he  had  read  an  account  of 
an  Indian,  who  was  in  a  boat,  approaching  a  cataract ; 
by  some  accident  it  was  drawn  into  the  current,  and  the 
savage  saw  that  his  escape  was  impossible.  Upon  this 
he  arose,  wrapped  his  robe  of  skins  around  him,  seated 
himself  erect,  and,  with  an  air  of  imperturbable  gravity, 
went  over  the  falls. 

"  The  most  remarkable  thing  about  the  American  In 
dians,"  said  Blackwood,  "  is  their  being  able  to  follow  in 
the  trail  of  their  enemies,  by  their  footprints  left  in  the 
leaves,  upon  the  grass,  and  even  upon  the  moss  of  the 
rocks.  The  accounts  given  of  this  seem  hardly  credible." 

"  I  can  readily  believe  it,  however,"  said  Sir  Walter. 
"  You  must  remember  that  this  is  a  part  of  their  educa 
tion.  I  have  learned  at  Abbotsford  to  discriminate  be 
tween  the  hoof-marks  of  all  our  neighbors'  horses,  and 
I  taught  the  same  thing  to  Mrs.  Lockhart.  It  is,  after 
all,  not  so  difficult  as  you  might  think.  Every  horse's 
foot  has  some  peculiarity,  either  of  size,  shoeing,  or  man 
ner  of  striking  the  earth.  I  was  once  walking  with 
Southey — a  mile  or  more  from  home — across  the  fields. 
At  last  we  came  to  a  bridle-path  leading  towards  Ab 
botsford,  and  here  I  noticed  fresh  hoof-prints.  Of  this  I 
said  nothing;  but  pausing,  and  looking  up  with  an 
inspired  expression,  I  said  to  Southey, — '  I  have  a  gift  of 
second  sight :  we  shall  have  a  stranger  to  dinner !' 

"  '  And  what  may  be  his  name  f  was  the  reply. 

" « Scott,'  said  I. 

" '  Ah,  it  is  some  relation  of  yours,'  he  said ;  '  you 
have  invited  him,  and  you* would  pass  off,  as  an  example 


192  PETER     PARLEY'S 

of  your  Scottish  gift  of  prophecy,  a  matter  previously- 
agreed  upon !' 

"  *  Not  at  all,'  said  I.  '  I  assure  you  that,  till  this  mo 
ment,  I  never  thought  of  such  a  thing.' 

"  When  we  got  home,  I  was  told  that  Mr.  Scott,  a  far 
mer  living  some  three  or  four  miles  distant,  and  a  relative 
of  mine,  was  waiting  to  see  me.  Southey  looked  as 
tounded.  The  man  remained  to  dinner,  and  he  was  asked 
if  he  had  given  any  intimation  of  his  coming.  He  re 
plied  in  the  negative :  that,  indeed,  he  had  no  idea  of 
visiting  Abbotsford  when  he  left  home.  After  enjoying 
,  Southey's  wonder  for  some  time,  I  told  him  that  I  saw 
the  tracks  of  Mr.  Scott's  horse  in  the  bridle-path,  and  in 
ferring  that  he  was  going  to  Abbotsford,  easily  foresaw 
that  we  should  have  him  to  dinner." 

Presently  the  conversation  turned  upon  Burns.  Scott 
knew  him  well.  He  said  that  Tarn  O'Shanter  was  written 
to  please  a  stonecutter,  who  had  executed  a  monument 
for  the  poet's  father,  on  condition  that  he  should  write 
him  a  witch-story  in  verse.  He  stated  that  Burns  was 
accustomed  in  his  correspondence,  more  especially  with 
ladies,  to  write  an  elaborate  letter,  and  then  send  a  copy 
of  it  to  several  persons ;  modifying  local  and  personal 
passages  to  suit  each  individual.  He  said  that  of  some 
of  these  letters  he  had  three  or  four  copies,  thus  ad 
dressed  to  different  persons,  and  all  in  the  poet's  hand 
writing. 

The  evening  passed  in  pleasant  conversation,  varied  by 
the  music  of  Mrs.  Lockhart's  voice  and  harp ;  and  some 
amusing  imitations  by  a  gentleman  of  the  party,  till 
twelve  o'clock.  It  will  readily  be  supposed  that  my  eye 
often  turned  upon  the  chief  figure  in  this  interesting 
group.  I  could  not  for  a  moment  forget  his  presence  j 


OWN      8TOKY.  193 

though  nothing  could  be  more  unpretending  and  modest 
than  his  whole  air  and  bearing. 

The  general  effect  of  his  face  was  that  of  calm  dignity ; 
and  now,  in  the  presence  of  children  and  friends,  lighted 
by  genial  emotions,  it  was  one  of  the  pleasantest  coun 
tenances  I  have  ever  seen.  When  standing  or  walking, 
his  manly  form,  added  to  an  aspect  of  benevolence,  com 
pleted  the  image ;  at  once  exciting  affection  and  com 
manding  respect. 

His  manners  were  quiet,  unpretending,  absolutely  with 
out  self-assertion.  He  appeared  to  be  happy,  and  desirous 
of  making  others  so.  He  was  the  only  person  present 
who  seemed  unconscious  that  he  was  the  author  of  Wa- 
verley.  His  intercourse  with  his  daughter  was  most 
charming.  She  seemed  quite  devoted  to  him  ;  watching 
his  lips  when  he  was  speaking,  and  seeking  in  everything 
to  anticipate  and  fulfil  his  wishes.  When  she  was  sing 
ing,  his  eye  dwelt  upon  her  ;  his  ear  catching  and  seem 
ing  to  relish  every  tone.  Frequently,  when  she  was 
silent,  his  eye  rested  upon  her,  and  the  lines  came  to  my 
mind, — 

"  Some  feelings  are  to  mortals  given, 
With  less  of  earth  in  them  than  heaven : 
And  if  there  be  a  human  tear 
From  passion's  dross  refined  and  clear, 
A  tear  so  limpid  and  so  meek 
It  would  not  stain  an  aagel's  cheek : 
'Tis  that  which  pious  fathers  shed 
Upon  a  duteous  daughter's  head  1" 

Eight  years  later,  when  I  was  again  in  London,  Scott 
was  on  his  death-bed  at  Abbotsford.  Overburdened 
with  the  struggle  to  extricate  himself  from  the  wreck  of 


194         PETER     PARLEY'S     OWN      STORY. 

his  fortunes,  his  brain  had  given  way,  and  the  mighty  in 
tellect  was  in  ruins.  On  the  morning  of  the  17th  he 
woke  from  a  paralytic  slumber ;  his  eye  clear  and  calm, 
every  trace  of  delirium  having  passed  away.  Lockhart 
came  to  his  bedside.  "  My  dear,"  he  said,  "  I  may  have 
but  a  moment  to  speak  to  you.  Be  a  good  man  :  be  vir 
tuous  ;  be  religious  :  be  a  good  man.  Nothing  else  will 
give  you  any  comfort  when  you  are  called  upon  to  lie 
here  !" 

These  were  almost  the  last  words  he  spoke ;  he  soon 
fell  into  a  stupor,  which  became  the  sleep  of  death.  So 
he  died,  with  all  his  children  around  him.  "  It  was  a 
beautiful  day,"  says  his  biographer ;  "  so  warm,  that  every 
window  was  wide  open ;  and  so  perfectly  still,  that  the 
sound  of  all  others  most  delicious  to  his  ear — the  gentle 
ripple  of  the  Tweed  over  its  pebbles — was  distinctly  audi 
ble,  as  we  knelt  around  the  bed ;  and  his  eldest  sou 
kissed  and  closed  his  eyes  1" 


CHAPTER    XXI. 

Kf  ROUTE  FOB  LONDON — "THE   LAIRD  O'  COCKPEN1' — LOCALITIES   OP  LEGESU- 
ABT   FAME—DIFFERENCE  OF  ENGLISH   AMD   AUKKICAX  SCENERY. 

EARLY  in  June  I  set  out  for  London.  My  route  led 
me  through  the  village  of  Dalkeith,  and  the  possessions 
of  the  Duke  of  Buccleuch,  which  extended  for  thirty 
miles  on  hoth  sides  of  the  road.  We  were  constantly 
meeting  objects  which  revived  historical  or  poetic  remi 
niscences.  Among  these  was  Cockpen,  the  scene  of  the 
celebrated  ballad ;  and  as  I  rode  by  the  whole  romance 
passed  before  my  mind.  I  fancied  that  I  could  even 
trace  the  pathway  along  whicu  the  old  laird  proceeded 
upon  his  courtship,  as  well  as  the  residence  of 

"  The  penniless  lass  wi'  a  lang  pedigree;" 
who  was  so  daft  as  to  reject  his  offer,  although 

"Hia  wig  was  well  powthered  and  as  gude  as  new; 
His  waistcoat  was  red,  and  his  coat  it  was  blue ; 
A  ring  on  his  finger,  a  sword  and  cocked  hat — 
And  wha  could  refuse  the  laird  wi'  a'  that?" 

We  crossed  the  Galawater  and  the  Ettrick,  and  trav 
elled  along  the  banks  of  the  Tweed.  We  passed  Ab- 
botsford  on  our  left ;  and  further  on  saw  the  Eildon  Hills, 
**  cleft  in  three"  by  the  wondrous  wizard,  Michael  Scott ; 


196  PETER     PARLEY'S 

as  duly  chronicled  in  the  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel.  We 
proceeded  along  the  banks  of  the  Teviot,  a  small  limpid 
stream,  where  barefooted  lassies  were  washing,  as  in  the 
days  of  Allan  Ramsay.  We  saw  Netherby  Hall,  and  a 
little  beyond  Cannobie  Lea,  the  scenes  of  the  song  Young 
Lochinvar.  All  these,  and  many  more  localities  of  le 
gendary  fame,  were  passed  in  the  course  of  a  forenoon's 
progress  in  the  stage-coach. 

One  day's  journey  brought  me  to  Carlisle :  thence  I 
travelled  through  the  lake  district,  looking  with  delight 
upon  Windermere,  Rydal,  Grassmere,  Helvellyn,  Der- 
wentwater,  and  Skiddaw.  Then  turning  eastward,  I 
passed  over  a  hilly  and  picturesque  country,  to  the  an 
cient  and  renowned  city  of  York.  Having  lingered,  half 
entranced,  amid  its  antiquities,  and  looked  almost  with 
worship  upon  its  cathedral — the  most  beautiful  I  have 
ever  seen — I  departed,  and  soon  found  myself  once  more 
in  London. 

As  I  shall  not  return  to  the  subject  again,  I  must  say  a 
few  words  as  to  the  impression  England  makes  upon  the 
mind  of  an  American  traveller.  I  have  visited  this  coun 
try  several  times  within  the  last  thirty  years,  and  I  shall 
group  my  impressions  in  one  general  view.  The  whole 
may  be  summed  up  in  a  single  sentence,  which  is,  that 
England  is  incomparably  the  most  beautiful  country  in 
the  world !  I  do  not  speak  of  it  in  winter,  when  en 
cumbered  with  fogs ;  when  there  is 

"  No  sun,  no  moon,  no  morn,  no  noon, 

No  dusk,  no  dawn — no  proper  time  of  day ; 
No  sky,  no  earthly  view,  no  distance  looking  blue  ; 
No  road,  no  street,  no  t'other  side  the  way  I" 

I  take  her,  as  I  do  any  other  beauty  who  sits  for  her 


OWN     STORY.  197 

portrait,  in  her  best  attire ;  that  is,  in  summer..  The  sun 
rises  here  as  high  in  June  as  it  does  in  America.  Vege 
tation  is  just  about  as  far  advanced.  The  meadows,  the 
wheat-fields,  the  orchards,  the  forests  are  in  their  glory. 
There  is  one  difference,  however,  between  the  two  coun 
tries  ;  die  sun  in  England  is  not  so  hot,  the  air  is  not  so 
highly  perfumed,  the  buzz  of  the  insects  is  not  so  intense. 
Everything  is  more  tranquil.  With  us,  all  nature,  during 
summer,  appears  to  be  in  haste  :  as  if  its  time  was  short; 
as  if  it  feared  the  coming  frost.  In  England,  on  the  con 
trary,  there  seems  to  be  a  confidence  in  the  seasons,  as  if 
there  were  time  for  the  ripening  harvests ;  as  if  the 
•wheat  might  swell  out  its  fat  sides,  the  hop  amplify  its 
many-plaited  flowers,  the  oats  multiply  and  increase  their 
tassels ;  each  and  all  attaining  their  perfection  at  leisure. 
In  the  United  States,  the  period  of  growth  of  most 
vegetables1  is  compressed  into  ten  weeks;  in  Great 
Britain,  it  extends  to  sixteen. 

If  we  select  the  middle  of  June  as  a  point  of  com 
parison,  we  shall  see  that  in  America  there  is  a  spirit, 
vigor,  energy  in  the  climate,  as  indicated  by  vegetable 
and  animal  life,  unknown  in  Europe.  The  air  is  clearer, 
the  landscape  is  more  distinct,  the  bloom  more  vivid,  the 
odors  more  pungent.  A  clover-field  in  America,  in  full 
bloom,  is  by  many  shades  more  ruddy  than  the  same 
thing  in  England  :  its  breath  even  is  sweeter  :  the  music 
of  the  bees  stealing  its  honey  is  of  a  higher  key.  A 
summer  forest  with  us  is  of  a  livelier  green  than  in  any 
part  of  Great  Britain;  the  incense  breathed  upon  the 
heart,  morning  and  evening,  is,  I  think,  more  full  and 
fragrant.  And  yet,  if  we  take  the  summer  through,  this 
season  is  pleasanter  in .  England  than  with  us.  It  is 
longer,  its  excitements  are  more  tranquil,  and,  being 


198  PETER     PARLEY'S 

spread  over  a  larger  space,  the  heart  has  more  leisure  to 
appreciate  them,  than  in  the  haste  and  hurry  of  our 
American  climate. 

There  is  one  fact  worthy  of  notice,  which  illustrates 
this  peculiarity  of  the  English  summer  :  the  trees  there 
are  all  of  a  more  sturdy,  or,  as  we  say,  stubbed  form  and 
character.  The  oaks,  the  elms,  the  walnuts,  beeches,  are 
shorter  and  thicker,  as  well  in  the  trunks  as  the  branches, 
than  ours.  The  leaves  are  thicker,  the  twigs  larger  in 
circumference.  I  have  noticed  particularly  the  recent 
growths  of  apple-trees,  and  they  are  at  once  shorter  and 
stouter  than  in  America.  This  quality  in  the  trees  gives 
a  peculiarity  to  the  landscape :  the  forest  is  more  solid 
and  less  graceful  than  ours.  If  you  will  look  at  an  Eng 
lish  painting  of  trees,  you  notice  the  fact  I  state,  and 
perceive  the  effect  it  gives,  especially  to  scenes  of  which 
trees  constitute  a  prevailing  element.  All  over  Europe, 
in  fact,  the  leaves  of  the  trees  have  a  less  feathery  ap 
pearance  than  in  America ;  and  in  general  the  forms  of 
the  branches  are  less  arching,  and,  of  course,  less  beauti 
ful-.  Hence  it  will  be  perceived  that  European  pictures 
of  trees  differ  in  this  respect  from  American  ones :  the 
foliage  in  the  former  being  more  solid,  and  the  sweep  of 
the  branches  more  angular. 

But  it  is  in  "respect  to  the  effects  of  human  art  and  in 
dustry  that  the  English  landscape  has  the  chief  advantage 
over  ours.  England  is  an  old  country,  and  shows  on  its 
face  the  influences  of  fifteen  centuries  of  cultivation.  It 
is,  with  the  exception  of  Belgium,  the  most  thickly- 
settled  country  of  Europe. 

It  is  under  a  garden-like  cultivation  ;  the  ploughing  is 
straight  and  even,  as  if  regulated  by  machinery ;  the 
boundaries  of  estates  consist,  for  the  most  part,  of  stone 


OWN       STORY.  199 

mason- work,  the  intermediate 'divisions  being  hedges, 
neatly  trimmed,  and  forming  a  beautiful  contrast  to  our 
stiff  stone  walls  and  rail  fences.  In  looking  from  the  top 
of  a  hill  over  a  large  extent  of  country,  it  is  impossible 
not  to  feel  a  glow  of  delight  at  the  splendor  of  the  scene : 
the  richness  of  the  soil,  its  careful  and  skilful  cultivation, 
its  green,  tidy  boundaries  chequering  the  scene,  its  teem 
ing  crops,  its  fat  herds,  its  numberless  and  full-fleeced 
sheep. 

Nor  must  the  dwellings  be  overlooked.  I  pass  by  the 
cities  and  the  manufacturing  villages,  which,  in  most 
parts,  are  visible  in  every  extended  landscape ;  sometimes, 
as  in  the  region  of  Manchester,  spreading  out  for  miles, 
and  sending  up  wreaths  of  smoke  from  a  thousand  tall, 
tapering  chimneys.  I  am  speaking  now  of  the  country ; 
and  here  are  such  residences  as  are  unknown  to  us.  An 
English  castle  would  swallow  up  a  dozen  of  our  wood  or 
brick  villas.  The  adjacent  estate  often  includes  a  thou 
sand  acres ;  and  these,  be  it  remembered,  are  kept  almost 
as  much  for  ornament  as  use.  Think  of  a  dwelling  that 
might  gratify  the  pride  of  a  prince,  surrounded  by  seve 
ral  square  miles  of  wooded  park,  and  shaven  lawn,  and 
winding  stream,  and  swelling  hill ;  and  all  having  been 
for  a  hundred,  perhaps  five  hundred  years,  subjected  to 
every  improvement  which  the  highest  art,  could  suggest ! 
There  is  certainly  a  union  of  unrivalled  beauty  and  mag 
nificence  in  the  lordly  estates  of  England.  We  have 
nothing  in  Amirica  which  at  all  resembles  them. 

And  then  there  is  every  grade  of  imitation  of  these 
high  examples  scattered  over  the  whole  country.  The 
greater  part  of  the  surface  of  England  belongs  to  wealthy 
proprietors,  and  these  have  alike  the  desire  and  the 
ability  to  give  an  aspect  of  neatness,  finish,  and  elegance. 


200  PETER      PARLEY'S 

not  only  to  their  dwellings  and  the  immediate  grounds, 
but  to  their  entire  estates.  The  prevailing  standard  of 
taste  thus  leads  to  a  universal  beautifying  of  the  surface 
of  the  country.  Even  the  cottager  feels  the  influence  of 
this  omnipresent  spirit :  the  brown  thatch  over  his 
dwelling,  and  the  hedge  before  his  door,  must  be  "neatly 
trimmed  :  the  green  ivy  must  clamber  up  and  festoon  his 
windows ;  and  the  little  yard  in  front  must  bloom  with 
roses  and  lilies,  and  other  gentle  flowers,  in  their  season. 

So  much  for  the  common  aspect  of  England  as  the 
traveller  passes  over  it.  The  seeker  after  the  picturesque 
may  find  abundant  gratification  in  Devonshire,  Derby 
shire,  Westmoreland,  though  Wales  and  Scotland,  and 
parts  of  Ireland,  are  still  more  renowned  for  their  beauty. 
So  far  as  combinations  of  nature  are  concerned,  nothing 
in  the  world  can  surpass  some  of  our  own  scenery ;  as 
along  the  upper  waters  of  the  Housatonic  and  the  Con 
necticut,  or  among  the  islands  of  Lake  George,  and  a 
thousand  other  places  :  but  these  lack  the  embellishments 
of  art  and  the  associations  of  romance  or  song,  which 
belong  to  the  rival  beauties  of  British  landscapes. 

I  confine  these  remarks  to  a  single  topic,  the  aspect  of 
England  as  it  meets  the  eye  of  an  American  traveller. 
The  English  do  not  and  cannot  enjoy  the  spectacle  as  an 
American  does  ;  for  they  are  born  to  it,  and  have  no  ex 
perience  which  teaches  them  to  estimate  it  by  common 
and  inferior  standards.  Having  said  so  much  on  this 
subject,  I  shall  not  venture  to  speak  of  English  society  : 
of  the  lights  and  shadows  of  life  beneath  the  myriad 
roofs  of  towns  and  cities.  The  subject  would  be  too  ex 
tensive  ;  and  besides,  it  has  been  abundantly  treated  by 
others.  I  only  say,  in  passing,  that  the  English  people 
are  the  best  studied  at  home.  John  Bull,  out  of  his  own 


OWN     STORY.  201 

house,  is  generally  a  rough  customer  :  here,  by  his  fire 
side,  with  wife,  children,  and  friends,  he  is  generous, 
genial,  gentlemanly.  There  is  no  hospitality  like  that  of 
an  Englishman,  when  you  have  crossed  his  threshold. 
Everywhere  else  he  will  annoy  you.  He  will  poke  his 
elbow  into  your  sides  in  a  crowded  thoroughfare ;  he  will 
rebuff'  you  if,  sitting  at  his  side  in  a  railway-carriage,  you 
ask  a  question  by  way  of  provoking  a  little  conversation  : 
he  carries  at  his  back  a  load  of  prejudices,  like  the  bundle 
of  Christian  in  the  Pilgrim's  Progress ;  and,  instead  of 
seeking  to  get  rid  of  them,  he  is  always  striving  to  in 
crease  his  collection.  If  he  becomes  a  diplomat,  his 
great  business  is  to  meddle  in  everybody's  affairs  ;  if  an 
editor,  he  is  only  happy  in  proportion  as  he  can  say  an 
noying  and  irritating  things.  And  yet,  catch  this  same 
John  Bull  at  home,  and  his  crusty,  crocodile  armor  falls 
off,  and  he  is  the  very  best  fellow  in  the  world  :  liberal, 
hearty,  sincere, — the  perfection  of  a  gentleman. 


CHAPTER    XXII. 

LONDON  AGAIN — JACOB   PERKINS  AND   HIS  STEAM-GUN — DUKES  OF  •WELLING 
TON,    SUSSEX,    AND    YORK —  BRITISH    LADIES    AT   A    REVIEW  —  HOUSE    O» 

COMMONS    AND    ITS    ORATORS CATALANI — DISTINGUISHED    FOREIGNERS — 

EDWAED  IRVING   COMPARED   TO  EDMUND   KEAN — BYRON   LYING  IN  STATE. 

LONDON,  when  I  first  knew  it,  was  not  what  it  is  now. 
Its  population  has  at  least  doubled  since  1824.  At  that 
time  Charing  Cross  was  a  filthy,  triangular  thoroughfare, 
a  stand  for  hackney-coaches,  a  grand  panorama  of  show 
bills  pasted  over  the  surrounding  walls,  with  the  King's 
Mews  in  the  immediate  vicinity :  this  whole  area  is  now 
the  site  of  Trafalgar  Square.  This  is  an  index  of  other 
and  similar  changes  that  have  taken  place  all  over  the 
city.  At  the  present  day,  London  not  only  surpasses  in 
its  extent,  its  wealth,  its  accumulations  of  all  that  belongs 
to  art,  the  extent  of  its  commerce,  the  vastness  of  its  in 
fluence,  all  the  cities  that  now  exist,  but  all  that  the 
world  has  before  known. 

King  George  IV.  was  then  on  the  throne,  and  though 
he  was  shy  of  showing  himself  in  public,  I  chanced  to 
see  him  several  times,  and  once  to  advantage,  at  Ascot 
Races.  For  more  than  an  hour  his  majesty  stood  in  the 
pavilion,  surrounded  by  the  Duke  of  Wellington,  the 
Duke  of  York,  the  Marquis  of  Anglesea,  and  other 
persons  of  note.  But  for  the  star  on  his  left  breast,  and 
the  respect  paid  to  him,  he  might  have  passed  as  only  an 
over-dressed  and  rather  sour  old  rake.  I  noticed  that 


PETER     PARLEY'S     OWH      BTORY.         203 

his  coat  sat  v.ery  close  and  smooth,  and  was  told  that  he 
was  trussed  and  braced  by  stays.  It  was  said  to  be  the 
labor  of  at  least  two  hours  to  prepare  him  for  a  public 
exhibition.  He  was  a  dandy  to  the  last.  The  wrinkles 
of  his  coat,  after  it  was  on,  were  cut  out  by  the  tailor, 
and  carefully  drawn  up  with  the  needle.  He  had  the 
gout,  and  walked  badly.  I  imagine  there  were  few 
among  the  thousands  gathered  to  the  spectacle  who  were 
really  less  happy  than  his  majesty — the  monarch  of  the 
three  kingdoms. 

I  saw  the  Duke  of  Wellington  not  only  on  this,  but  on 
many  subsequent  occasions.  I  think  the  portraits  give  a 
false  idea  of  his  personal"  appearance.  He  was  really  a 
rather  small,  thin,  insignificant-looking  man,  unless  you 
saw  him  on  horseback.  He  then  seemed  rather  stately, 
and  in  a  military  dress,  riding  always  with  inimitable 
ease,  he  sustained  the  image  of  the  great  general.  At 
other  times  I  never  could  discover  in  his  appearance  any 
thing  but  the  features  and  aspect  of  an  ordinary,  and 
certainly  not  prepossessing,  old  man.  I  say  this  with 
great  respect  for  his  character,  which,  as  a  personifica 
tion  of  solid  sense,  indomitable  purpose,  steady  loyalty, 
and  unflinching  devotion  to  a  sense  of  public  duty,  I  con 
ceive  to  be  one  of  the  finest  in  British  history. 

At  this  period  our  countryman,  Jacob  Perkins,  was  as 
tonishing  London  with  his  steam-gun.  He  was  certainly 
a  man  of  extraordinary  genius,  and  was  the  originator  of 
numerous  useful  inventions.  At  the  time  of  which  I 
write,  he  fancied  that  he  had  discovered  a  new  mode  of 
generating  steam,  by  which  he  was  not  only  to  save  a 
vast  amount  of  fuel,  but  to  obtain  a  marvellous  increase 
of  power.  So  confident  was  he  of  success,  that  he  told 
me  he  felt  certain  of  being  able,  in  a  few  months,  to  go 


204  PETER     PARLEY'S 

from  London  to  Liverpool  with  the  steam  produced  by  a 
gallon  of  oil.  Such  was  his  fertility  of  invention,  that 
while  pursuing  one  discovery  others  came  into  his  mind, 
and,  seizing  upon  his  attention,  kept  him  in  a  whirl  of 
experiments,  in  which  many  things  were  begun,  and 
comparatively  nothing  completed. 

Though  the  steam-gun  never  reached  any  practical 
result,  it  was  for  some  time  the  admiration  of  London. 
I  was  present  at  an  exhibition  of  its  wonderful  per 
formances  in  the  presence  of  the  Duke  of  Sussex,  the 
Duke  of  Wellington,  and  other  persons  of  note.  The 
purpose  of  the  machine  was  to  discharge  bullets  by  steam, 
instead  of  gunpowder,  and  with  great  rapidity — at  least 
a  hundred  a  minute.  The  balls  were  put  in  a  sort  of 
tunnel,  and  by  working  a  crank  back  and  forward,  they 
were  let  into  the  chamber  of  the  barrel  one  b}'  one,  and 
expelled  by  the  steam.  The  noise  of  each  explosion  was 
like  that  of  a  musket ;  and  when  the  discharges  were 
rapid,  there  was  a  ripping  uproar,  quite  shocking  to  ten 
der  nerves.  The  balls — carried  about  a  hundred  feet 
across  the  smithy — struck  upon  an  iron  target,  and  were 
flattened  to  the  thickness  of  a  shilling  piece. 

The  whole  performance  was  indeed  quite  formidable, 
and  the  Duke  of  Sussex  seemed  greatly  excited.  I  stood 
close  to  him ;  and  when  the  bullets  flew  pretty  thick,  and 
the  discharge  came  to  its  climax,  I  heard  him  say  to  the 
Duke  of  Wellington,  in  an  under-tone, — "  Wonderful, 
wonderful — wonderful !  wonderful,  wonderful — wonder 
ful  !  wonderful,  wonderful — wonderful !"  and  so  he  went 
on,  without  variation.  It  was,  in  fact,  a  very  good  com 
mentary  upon  the  performance. 

Having  spoken  of  the  Duke  of  Sussex,  I  must  say  a 
few  words  of  his  brother,  the  Duke  of  York,  whom  I 


OWN      STORY.  205 

nad  seen  at  Ascot.  He  was  there  interested  in  the  race, 
for  he  had  entered  a  horse  by  the  name  of  Moses,  for  one 
of  the  prizes.  Some  person  reflected  upon  him  for  this. 
His  ready  reply  was,  that  he  was  devoted  to  Moses  and 
the  profits.  Despite  his  disgrace  in  the  Flanders  cam 
paign,  and  his  notorious  profligacy,  he  was  still  a  favorite 
among  the  British  people.  There  was  about  him  a  cer 
tain  native  honorableness  and  goodness  of  heart,  which 
always  existed,  even  in  the  midst  of  his  worst  career. 

I  saw  the  Duke  on  another  occasion,  at  a  cavalry  re 
view  on  Hounslow  Heath.  The  Duke  of  Wellington 
was  among  the  spectators.  He  was  now  in  military 
dress,  and  mounted  on  a  fine  chestnut-colored  horse.  His 
motions  were  quick,  and  frequently  seemed  to  indicate 
impatience.  Several  ladies  and  gentleman  on  horseback 
were  admitted  to  the  review,  and  within  the  circle  of  the  • 
sentries  stationed  to  exclude  the  crowd.  I  obtained  ad 
mission  by  paying  five  shillings ;  for  I  learned  that  in 
England  money  is  quite  as  mighty  as  in  America.  The 
privileged  group  of  fair  ladies  and  brave  men,  gathered 
upon  a  grassy  knoll  to  observe  the  evolutions  of  the 
soldiers,  presented  an  assemblage  such  as  the  aristocracy 
of  England  alone  can  furnish.  Those  who  imagine  that 
this  is  an  effeminate  generation,  should  learn  that  both 
the  men  and  women  belonging  to  the  British  nobility, 
taken  together,  are  without  doubt  the  finest  race  in  the 
world.  One  thing  is  certain,  these  ladies  could  stand  ' 
fire ;  for  although  the  horses  leaped  and  pranced  at  the 
iischarges  of  the  troops,  their  fair  riders  seemed  as  much 
it  ease  as  if  upon  their  own  feet.  Their  horsemanship 
vas  indeed  admirable,  and  suggested  those  habits  of  exer 
cise  and  training,  to  which  their  full  rounded  forms  and 
•looming  countenances  gave  ample  testimony. 


206  PETER     PARLEY'S 

The  performances  consisted  of  various  marches  and 
counter-marches — sometimes  slow,  and  sometimes  quick 
— across  the  extended  plain.  The  evolutions  of  the  fly 
ing-artillery  excited  universal  admiration.  When  the 
whole  body — about  four  thousand  horse — rushed  in  a 
furious  gallop  over  the  ground,  the  clash  of  arms,  the 
thunder  of  hoofs,  the  universal  shudder  of  the  earth — all 
together  created  more  thrilling  .emotions  in  my  mind, 
than  any  other  military  parade  I  ever  beheld.  I  have 
seen  eighty  thousand  infantry  in  the  field ;  but  they  did 
not  impress  my  imagination  as  forcibly  as  these  few  regi 
ments  of  cavalry  at  Hounslow  Heath.  One  incident  gave 
painful  effect  to  the  spectacle.  As  the  whole  body  were 
sweeping  across  the  field,  a  single  trooper  was  pitched 
from  his  horse  and  fell  to  the  ground.  A  hundred  hoofs 
.passed  over  him,  and  trampled  him  into  the  sod.  On 
swept  the  gallant  host,  as  heedless  of  their  fallen  com 
panion  as  if  only  a  feather  had  dropped  from  of  their 
caps.  The  conflict  of  cavalry  in  real  battle,  must  be  the 
most  fearful  exhibition  which  the  dread  drama  of  war  can 
famish.  On  this  occasion  both  the  King  and  the  Duke 
of  York  were  present ;  so  that  it  was  one  off  universal 
interest.  About  fifty  ladies  on  horseback  rode  back  and 
forth  over  the  field,  on  the  flanks  of  the  troops,  imitating 
their  evolutions. 

I  have  been  often  at  the  House  of  Commons ;  but  I 
shall  now  only  speak  of  a  debate,  in  July,  1824,  upon  the 
petition,  I  believe,  of  the  City  of  London,  for  a  recogni 
tion  of  the  independence  of  some  of  the  South  American 
States.  Canning  was  then  Secretary  of  Foreign  Affairs, 
and  took  the  brunt  of  the  battle  made  upon  the  Ministry. 
Sir  James  Mackintosh  led,  and  Brougham  followed  him, 
on  the  same  side. 


OWN     STORY.  207 

I  shall  not  attempt  to  give  you  a  sketch  of  the 
speeches :  a.  mere  description  of  the  appearance  and 
manner  of  the  prominent  orators  will  suffice.  Sir  James, 
then  nearly  sixty  years  old,  was  a  man  rather  above  the 
ordinary  size  ;  and  with  a  fine,  philanthropic  face.  His 
accent  was  decidedly  Scotch,  and  his  voice  shrill  and  dry. 
He  spoke  slowly,  often  hesitated,  and  was  entirely  destitute 
of  what  we  call  eloquence.  There  was  no  easy  flow  ot 
sentences,  no  gush  of  feeling,  no  apparent  attempt  to  ad 
dress  the  heart  or  the  imagination.  His  speech  was  a 
rigid  lecture,  rather  abstract  and  philosophical ;  evidently 
addressed  to  the  stern  intellect  of  stern  men.  He  had 
a  good  deal  of  gesture,  and  once  or  twice  was  boister 
ous  in  tone  and  manner.  His  matter  was  logical ;  and 
occasionally  he  illustrated  his  propositions  by  historical 
facts,  happily  narrated.  On  the  whole  he  made  the  im 
pression  upon  my  mind  that  he  was  a  very  philosophical, 
but  not  very  practical,  statesman. 

Brougham's  face  and  figure  are  familiar  to  every  one ; 
and  making  allowance  for  added  years,  there  is  little 
change  in  his  appearance  since  the  time  of  which  I 
speak.  He  had  abundance  of  words,  as  well  as  ideas. 
In  his  speech  on  the  occasion  I  describe,  he  piled  thought 
upon  thought,  laced  sentence  within  sentence,  mingled 
satire  and  philosophy,  fact  and  argument,  history  and 
anecdote,  as  if  he  had  been  a  cornucopia,  and  was 
anxious  to  disburden  himself  of  his  abundance.  In  all 
this  there  were  several  hard  hits,  and  Canning  evidently 
felt  them.  As  he  rose  to  reply,  I  took  careful  note  of  his 
appearance ;  for  he  was  then,  I  imagine,  the  most  con 
spicuous  of  the  British  Statesmen.  He  was  a  handsome 
man,  with  a  bald,  shining  head,  and  a  figure  slightly 
stooping  in  the  shoulders.  His  face  was  round,  his  eye 


208  PETER     PARLEY'S 

large  and  full,  his  lips  a  little  voluptuous  :  the  whole  bear 
ing  a  lively  and  refined  expression.  In  other  respects, 
his  appearance '  was  not  remarkable.  His  voice  was 
musical ;  and  he  spoke  with  more  ease  and  fluency  than 
most  other  orators  of  the  House  of  Commons ;  yet  even 
he  hesitated,  paused,  and  repeated  his  words,  not  only  in 
the  beginning,  but  sometimes  in  the  very  midst  of  his 
argument.  He,  however,  riveted  the  attention  of  the 
Members ;  and  his  observations  frequently  brought  out 
the  ejaculation  of  "  hear,  hear,"  from  both  sides  of  the 
House.  Brougham  and  Mackintosh  watched  him  with 
vigilant  attention ;  now  giving  nods  of  assent,  and  now 
signs  of  disapprobation. 

Of  course,  I  visited  the  House  of  Lords,  paying  two 
shillings  and  sixpence  fpr  admittance.  The  general  as 
pect  of  the  assembly  was  eminently  grave  and  dignified. 
Lord  Eldon  was  the  Chancellor — a  large,  heavy,  iron- 
looking  man — the  personification  of  bigoted  Conserva 
tism.  He  was  so  opposed  to  reforms,  that  he  shed  tears 
when  the  punishment  of  death  was  abolished  for  stealing 
five  shillings  in  a  dwelling-house !  When  I  saw  him, 
his  head  was  covered  with  the  official  wig :  his  face  suf 
ficed,  however,  to  satisfy  any  one  that  his  obstinacy  of 
character  was  innate. 

While  I  was  here,  a  Committee  from  the  House  ot 
Commons  was  announced ;  they  had  brought  up  a  mes 
sage  to  the  Lords.  The  Chancellor,  taking  the  seals  in 
his  hands,  approached  the  Committee,  bowing  three  times, 
and  they  doing  the  same.  Then  they  separated,  each 
moving  backward,  and  bowing.  To  persons  used  to  such 
a  ceremony,  this  might  be  sublime ;  to  me  it  was  lu 
dicrous  :  and  all  the  more  so,  on  account  of  the  ponder 
ous  starchness  of  the  chief  performer  in  the  solemn  farce. 


OWN      STORY.  209 

There  was  a  somewhat  animated  debate  while  I  was 
present,  in  which  Lords  Liverpool,  Lauderdale,  Harrow- 
by  and  Grey  participated  ;  yet  nothing  was  said  or  done 
that  would  justify  particular  notice  at  this  late  day. 

A  great  event  happened  in  the  musical  world  while  I 
was  in  London — the  appearance  of  Catalani  at  the  Italian 
Opera,  after  several  years  of  absence.  The  opera  was  Le 
Nozze  di  Figaro.  I  had  never  before  seen  an  opera; 
and  could  not,  even  by  the  enchantments  of  music,  have 
my  habits  of  thought  and  my  common  sense  so  com 
pletely  overturned  and  bewitched,  as  to  see  the  whole 
business  of  life — intrigue,  courtship,  marriage,  cursing, 
shaving,  preaching,  praying,  loving,  hating — done  by 
singing,  instead  of  talking,  and  yet  feel  that  it  was  all 
right  and  proper.  It  requires  both  a  musical  ear  and 
early  training  fully  to  appreciate  and  feel  the  opera. 

Madame  Catalani  was  a  large  handsome  woman;  a 
little  masculine  and  past  forty.  She  was  not  only  a  very 
clever  actress,  but  was  deemed  to  have  every  musical 
merit — volume,  compass,  clearness  of  tone,  surpassing 
powers  of  execution.  Her  whole  style  was  dramatic ; 
bending  even  the  music  to  the  sentiments  of  the  charac 
ter  and  the  song.  I  could  appreciate,  uninstructed  as  I 
was,  her  amazing  powers ;  though,  to  say  the  truth,  I 
was  quite  as  much  astonished  as  pleased.  Pasta  and 
Garcia,  both  of  whom  I  afterwards  heard,  gave  me  in 
finitely  greater  pleasure ;  chiefly  because  their  voices  pos 
sessed  that  melody  of  tone  which  excites  sympathy  in 
every  heart ;  even  the  most  untutored.  Madame  Cata 
lani  gave  the  opera  a  sort  of  epic  grandeur — an  almost 
tragic  vehemence  of  expression ;  Pasta  and  Garcia  ren 
dered  it  the  interpreter  of  those  soft  and  tender  emotions, 
for  the  expression  of  which  God  seems  to  have  given  mu~ 


210  PETER     PARLEY'S 

sic  to  mankind.  It  was,  no  doubt,  a  great  thing  to  hear 
the  greatest  cantatrice  of  the  age ;  but  I  remember  Ma 
dame  Catalani  as  a  prodigy,  rather  than  as  an  enchantress. 
On  the  occasion  I  am  describing,  she  sang,  by  request, 
"  Rule  Britannia"  between  the  acts ;  which  drew  forth 
immense  applause,  in  which  I  heartily  joined :  not  that 
I  liked  the  words,  but  that  I  felt  the  music. 

It  was  about  this  time  that  a  great  attraction  was  an 
nounced  at  one  of  the  theatres ;  nothing  less  than  the 
King  and  Queen  of  the  Sandwich  Islands,  who  had  gra 
ciously  condescended  to  honor  the  performance  with  their 
presence.  They  had  come  to  visit  England,  and  pay  their 
homage  to  George  the  Fourth ;  hence  the  Government 
deemed  it  necessary  to  receive  them  with  hospitality,  and 
pay  them  such  attentions  as  were  due  to  their  rank  and 
royal  blood.  The  king's  name  was  Kamehamaha ;  but 
he  had  also  the  sub-title  or  surname  of  Rhio-Rhio : 
which,  being  interpreted,  meant  Dog  of  Dogs.  Can 
ning's  wit  got  the  better  of  his  reverence,  and  so  he  pro 
fanely  suggested  that,  if  his  majesty  was  a  Dog  of  Dogs, 
what  must  the  queen  -be  ?  However,  there  was  an  old 
man  about  the  court,  who  had  acquired  the  title  of 
Poodle,  and  he  was  selected  as  a  fit  person  to  attend 
upon  their  majesties.  They  had  their  lodgings  at  the 
Adelphi  Hotel,  and  might  be  seen  at  all  hours  of  the  day, 
looking  at  the  puppet-shows  in  the  streets  with  intense 
delight.  Of  all  the  institutions  of  Great  Britain,  Punch 
and  Judy  evidently  made  the  strongest  and  most  favora 
ble  impression  upon  the  royal  party. 

They  were,  I  believe,  received  at  a  private  interview 
by  the  King  at  Windsor :  everything  calculated  to 
gratify  them  was  done.  I  saw  them  at  the  theatre, 
dressed  in  a  European  costume,  with  the  addition  of 


OWN     STORT.  211 

some  barbarous  finery.  The  king  was  an  enormous  man 
—six  feet  three  or  four  inches ;  the  queen  was  short,  but 
otherwise  of  ample  dimensions.  Besides  these  persons, 
the  party  comprised  five  or  six  other  members  of  the 
king's  household.  They  had  all  large,  round,  flat  faces, 
of  a  coarse,  though  good-humored  expression.  Their 
complexion  was  a  ruddy  brown,  not  very  unlike  the 
American  Indians;  their  general  aspect,  however,  was 
very  different.  They  looked  with  a  kind  of  vacant  won 
der  at  the  play,  evidently  not  comprehending  it;  the 
farce,  on  the  contrary,  seemed  greatly  to  delight  them. 
It  is  sad  to  relate  that  this  amiable  couple  never  returned 
to  their  country ;  both  died  in  England — victims  either 
to  the  climate,  or  to  the  change  in  their  habits  of  living. 

Among  the  prominent  objects  of  interest  in  London  at 
this  period  was  Edward  Irving,  then  preaching  at  the 
Caledonian  Chapel,  Cross  Street,  Hatton  Garden.  He 
was  now  in  the  full  flush  of  his  fame  ;  and  such  was  the 
eagerness  to  hear  him,  that  it  was  difficult  to  get  admis 
sion.  People  of  all  ranks — literary  men,  philosophers, 
statesmen,  noblemen,  persons  of  the  highest  name  and 
influence,  with  a  full  and  diversified  representation  of  the 
fair  sex — crowded  to  his  church.  I  was  so  fortunate  as 
to  get  a  seat  in  the  pew  of  a  friend,  a  privilege  which  I 
appreciated  all  the  more  when  I  counted  twenty  coroneted 
coaches  standing  at  the  door,  some  of  those  who  came  in 
them  not  being  able  to  obtain  even  an  entrance  into  the 
building.  The  interior  was  crowded  to  excess ;  the  aisles 
were  full ;  and  even  fine  ladies  seemed  happy  to  get  seats 
upon  the  pulpit  stairway.  Persons  of  the  highest  title 
were  scattered  here  and  there,  and  cabinet  ministers  were 
squeezed  in  with  the  mass  of  common  humanity. 

Mr.  Irving'g   appearance  was  very  remarkable.     He 


212  PETER     PARLEY'S 

•was  over  six  feet  in  height,  very  broad-shouldered,  with 
long,  black  hair  hanging  in  heavy,  twisted  ringlets  down 
upon  his  shoulders.  His  complexion  was  pallid,  yet 
swarthy  ;  the  whole  expression  of  his  face,  owing  chiefly 
to  an  unfortunate  squint,  was  half-sinister  and  half- 
sanctified,  creating  in  the  minds  of  the  beholder  a  pain 
ful  doubt  whether  he  was  a  great  saint  or  a  great  sinner. 

There  was  a  strange  mixture  of  saintliness  and  dandy 
ism  in  the  whole  appearance  of  this  man.  His  prayer 
was  affected — strange,  quaint,  peculiar  in  its  phraseology, 
yet  solemn  and  striking.  His  reading  of  the  psalm  was 
peculiar,  and  a  fancy  crossed  my  mind  that  I  had  heard 
something  like  it,  but  certainly  not  in  a  church.  I  was 
seeking  to  trace  out  a  resemblance  between  this  strange 
parson  and  some  star  of  Drury  Lane  or  Covent  Garden. 
Suddenly  I  found  the  clue :  Edward  Irving  in  the  pulpit 
was  imitating  Edmund  Kean  upon  the  stage  !  And  he 
succeeded  admirably — his  tall  and  commanding  person 
giving  him  an  immense  advantage  over  the  little,  in 
significant,  yet  inspired  actor.  He  had  the  tones  of  the 
latter,  his  gestures,  his  looks  even,  as  I  had  often  seen 
him  in  Richard  the  Third  and  Shylock.  He  had  evident 
ly  taken  lessons  of  the  renowned  tragedian,  but  whether 
in  public  or  private  is  not  for  me  to  say. 

In  spite  of  the  evident  affectation,  the  solemn  dandy 
ism^  the  dramatic  artifices  of  the  performer — for,  after 
all,  I  could  only  consider  the  preacher  as  an  actor — the 
sermon  was  very  impressive.  The  phraseology  was  rich, 
flowing,  redundant,  abounding  in  illustration,  and  seemed 
to  me  carefully  modelled  after  that  of  Jeremy  Taylor. 
Some  of  the  pictures  presented  to  the  imagination  were 
startling,  and  once  or  twice  it  seemed  as  if  the  whole  au 
dience  was  heaving  and  swelling  with  intense  emotion, 


OWN     BTOBT.  213 

like  a  sea  rolling  beneath  the  impulses  of  a  tempest. 
Considered  as  a  display  of  oratorical  art,  it  was  certainly 
equal  to  anything  I  have  ever  heard  from  the  pulpit ;  yet 
it  did  not  appear  to  me  calculated  to  have  any  permanent 
effect  in  enforcing  Christian  truth  upon  the  conscience. 
The  preacher  seemed  too  much  a  player,  and  too  little  an 
apostle.  The  afterthought  was,  that  the  whole  effect 
was  the  result  of  stage  trick,  and  not  of  sober  truth. 

The  character  and  career  of  Edward  Irving  present  a 
strange  series  of  incongruities.  He  was  born  in  Scotland 
in  1792  ;  he  became  a  preacher,  and  acquired  speedy 
notoriety,  as  much  by  his  peculiarities  as  his  merits.  He 
attracted  the  attention  of  Dr.  Chalmers,  and  through  his 
influence  was  for  a  time  assistant-minister  in  the  parish 
of  St.  John's,  at  Glasgow.  From  this  place  he  was  called 
to  the  Caledonian  Chapel,  where  I  heard  him.  His  fame 
continued  to  increase  ;  and  having  published  a  volume 
of  discourses,  under  the  quaint  title,  For  the  Oracles  of 
God,  four  Orations :  for  Judgment  to  come,  an  Argu 
ment  in  Nine  Parts  :  three  large  editions  of  the  work 
were  sold  in  the  space  of  six  months.  Wherever  he 
preached  crowds  of  eager  listeners  flocked  to  hear  him. 
His  eccentricities  increased  with  his  fame.  He  drew  out 
his  discourses  to  an  enormous  length,  and  on  several  oc 
casions  protracted  the  services  to  four  hours !  He  soon 
became  mystical,  and  took  to  studying  unfulfilled  prophe 
cy  as  the  true  key  to  the  interpretation  of  the  Scriptures. 
From  this  extravagance  he  passed  to  the  doctrine  that 
Christians,  by  the  power  of  faith,  can  attain  to  the  work 
ing  of  miracles,  and  speaking  with  unknown  tongues,  as 
in  the  primitive  ages.  Such  at  last  were  his  vagaries, 
that  he  was  cut  off  from  communion  with  the  Scottish 
Church ;  in  consequence,  he  became  the  founder  of  a 


214  PETER     PARLEY'S 

sect  which  continues  to  the  present  time  in  England, 
bearing  the  title  of  "  Irvingites."  Worn  out  with  anx 
iety  and  incessant  labors,  he  died  at  Glasgow,  while  on  a 
journey  for  his  health,  in  1834,  at  the  early  age  of  forty- 
two. 

One  more  event  I  must  notice — the  arrival  in  London 
of  the  remains  of  Lord  Byron,  and  their  lying  in  state 
previous  to  interment.  His  body  had  been  preserved  in 
spirits,  and  was  thus  brought  from  Greece,  attended  by 
five  persons  of  his  lordship's  suite.  Having  been  trans 
ferred  to  the  coffin,  it  lay  in  state  at  the  house  of  Sir 
Edward  Knatchbull,  where  such  were  the  crowds  that 
rushed  to  behold  the  spectacle,  that  it  was  necessary  to 
defend  the  coffin  with  a  stout  wooden  railing.  When  I 
arrived  at  the  place  the  lid  was  closed.  I  was  told,  how 
ever,  that-  the  countenance,  though  the  finer  lines  had 
collapsed,  was  so  little  changed  as  to  be  easily  recognised 
by  his  acquaintances.  The  general  muscular  form  of  the 
body  was  perfectly  preserved. 

The  aspect  of  the  scene,  even  as  I  witnessed  it,  was 
altogether  very  impressive.  The  coffin  was  covered  with 
a  pall,  enriched  by  escutcheons  wrought  in  gold.  On 
the  top  was  a  lid,  set  round  with  black  plumes.  Upon 
it  were  these  words, — 

"GEORGE    GORDON   NOEL    BYRON. 

BORN  IN  LONDON,  22o  JANUARY,  1788. 
DIED  AT  MISSOLONGHI,  APRIL  19TH,  1824." 

At  the  head  of  the  coffin  was  an  urn  containing  the 
ashes  of  his  brain  and  heart:  this  being  also  covered 
with  a  rich  pall,  wrought  with  figures  in  gold.  The 
windows  were  closed,  and  the  darkened  room  was  feebly 
illumined  by  numerous  wax  tapers. 


OWN     STORY.  215 

And  this  was  all  that  remained  of  Byron !  What  a 
lesson  upon  the  pride  of  genius,  the  vanity  of  rank,  the 
fatuity  of  fame, — all  levelled  in  the  dust,  and,  despite  the 
garnished  pall  and  magnificent  coffin,  their  possessor 
bound  to  pass  through  the  same  process  of  corruption  as 
the  body  of  a  common  beggar ! 


CHAPTEK   XXIII. 

urcnx   TO   IB*   mrmo    STATES — BOSTON    AXD   ns   •WORTHESS- -Brsrsrses 

OPMU.T1OSS—ACKBB.M  ANN'S     "  FOIWIT-MS-NOT  "     THB      PAKXXT     OF      ALL 
OTHXK  AX3TALS — TH*   AJUKICAX  SPKCHES — TKHK  DKCLISK. 

HATIKG  made  a  hurried  excursion  to  Paris  and  back 
to  London,  I  departed  for  Liverpool,  and  thence  em 
barked  for  the  United  States,  arriving  there  in  October, 
I  remained  at  Hartford  till  October,  1826,  and 
then  removed  to  Boston,  -with  the  intention  of  publishing 
original  works,  and  at  the  same  time  of  trying  my  hand 
at  authorship — the  latter  part  of  my  plan,  however, 
known  only  to  myself. 

At  that  time  Boston  was  recognized  as  the  literary 
metropolis  of  the  Union — the  admitted  Athens  of  Amer 
ica.  Edward  Everett  had  established  the  Xorth-Ameri- 
can  Review,  and  though  he  bad  now  just  left  the  edito 
rial  chair,  his  spirit  dwelt  in  it,  and  his  fame  lingered 
around  ft.  R  H.  Dana,  Edward  T.  Channing,  George 
Bancroft,  and  others,  were  among  the  rising  lights  of  the 
literary  horizon.  Society  was  strongly  impressed  with 
literary  tastes,  and  genius  was  respected  and  cherished. 
The  day  had  not  yet  come  when  it  was  glory  enough  for 
a  college  professor  to  marry  a  hundred  thousand  dollars 
of  stocks,  or  when  it  was  the  chief  end  of  a  lawyer  to 
become  the  attorney  of  an  insurance  company,  or  a  bank, 


PETER     PARLEY'S     OWN     8TORT.         217 

or  a  manufacturing  corporation.  A  Boston  imprint  on  a 
book  was  equal  to  a  certificate  of  good  paper,  good  print, 
good  binding,  and  good  matter.  And  while  such  was 
the  state  of  things  at  Boston,  at  New  York  the  Harpers, 
who  till  recently  had  been  mere  printers  in  Dover  street, 
had  scarcely  entered  upon  their  career  as  publishers ;  and 
the  other  shining  lights  in  the  trade,  at  the  present  time, 
were  either  unborn,  or  in  the  nursery,  or  at  school. 

What  a  revolution  do  these  simple  items  suggest, 
wrought  in  the  space  of  thirty  years  !  The  sceptre  has 
departed  from  Judah :  New  York  is  now  the  acknowl 
edged  metropolis  of  American  literature,  as  well  as  of 
art  and  commerce.  Nevertheless,  if  we  look  at  Boston 
literature  at  the  present  time,  as  reflected  in  its  publish 
ing  lists,  we  shall  see  that  the  light  of  other  days  has  not 
degenerated  ;  for  since  the  period  of  which  I  speak,  Pres- 
cott,  Longfellow,  Hawthorne,  Whipple,  Holmes,  Lowell, 
Hilliard,  have  joined  the  Boston  constellation  of  letters. 

It  cannot  interest  the  reader  to  hear  in  detail  my  busi 
ness  operations  in  Boston  at  this  period.  It  will  be  suf 
ficient  to  say  that,  among  other  works,  I  published  an 
edition  of  the  novels  of  Charles  Brockden  Brown,  with  a 
life  of  the  author,  furnished  by  his  widow,  she  having  a 
share  of  the  edition.  I  also  published  an  edition  of  Han 
nah  More's  woi-ks,  and  of  Mrs.  Opie's  works :  these  being, 
I  believe,  the  first  complete  collections  of  the  writings  of 
these  authors.  In  1827  I  published  Sketches  by  N.  P. 
Willis,  his  first  adventure  in  responsible  authorship.  The 
next  year  I  issued  the  Commonplace  Book  of  Prose,  the 
first  work  of  the  now  celebrated  Dr.  Cheever.  This  was 
speedily  followed  by  the  Commonplace  Book  of  Poetry, 
and  Studies  in  Poetry,  by  the  same  author. 

In  1828  I  published  a  first,  and  soon  after  a  second, 


218  PETER     PARLEY'S 

volume  of  the  Legendary,  designed  as  a  periodical,  and 
intended  to  consist  of  original  pieces  in  prose  and  verse, 
principally  illustrative  of  American  history,  scenery,  and 
manners.  This  was  edited  by  N.  P.  Willis,  and  was,  I 
believe,  his  first  editorial  engagement.  Among  the  con 
tributors  were  Halleck,  Miss  Sedgwick,  Miss  Francis,  Mrs. 
Sigourney,  Willis,  Pierpont,  and  other  popular  writers  of 
that  day.  It  was  kindly  treated  by  the  press,  which  gen 
erously  published,  without  charge,  the  best  pieces  in  full, 
saving  the  reading  million  the  trouble  of  buying  the  book 
and  paying  for  the  chaff,  which  was  naturally  found  with 
the  wheat.  Despite  this  courtesy,  the  work  proved  a 
miserable  failure.  The  time  had  not  come  for  such  a 
publication.  At  the  present  day,  with  the  present  acces 
sories  and  the  present  public  spirit,  I  doubt  not  that  such 
an  enterprise  would  be  eminently  successful. 

The  first  work  of  the  Annual  kind,  entitled  the  Forget- 
Me-Not,  was  issued  by  the  Ackermanns  of  London,  in  the 
winter  of  1823,  while  I  was  in  that  city.  It  was  success 
fully  imitated  by  Carey  and  Lea  at  Philadelphia,  in  a 
work  entitled  the  Atlantic  Souvenir,  and  which  was  sus 
tained  with  great  spirit  for  several  years.  In  1828  I 
commenced  and  published  the  first  volume  of  the  Token, 
which  I  continued  for  fifteen  years;  editing  it  myself, 
with  the  exception  of  the  volume  for  1829,  which  came 
out  under  the  auspices  of  Mr.  Willis.  In  1836,  the  At 
lantic  Souvenir  ceased ;  and  after  that  time,  by  arrange 
ment  with  the  publishers,  its  title  was  added  to  that  of 
the  Token. 

The  success  of  this  species  of  publication  stimulated 
new  enterprises  of  the  kind,  and  a  rage  for  them  spread 
over  Europe  and  America.  The  efforts  of  the  first  artists 
and  the  best  writers  were  at  length  drawn  into  them ; 


OWN     STORT  .  219 

and  for  nearly  twenty  years  every  autumn  produced  an 
abundant  harvest  of  Diadems,  Bijous,  Amaranths,  Bou 
quets,  Hyacinths,  Amulets,  Talismans,  Forget-Me-Nots, 
<fec.  Under  these  seductive  titles  they  became  messengers 
of  love,  tokens  of  friendship,  signs  and  symbols  of  affec 
tion,  and  luxury  and  refinement ;  and  thus  they  stole 
alike  into  the  palace  and  the  cottage,  the  library,  the 
parlor,  and  the  boudoir.  The  public  taste  grew  by  feed 
ing  on  these  luscious  gifts,  and  soon  craved  even  more 
gorgeous  works  of  the  kind ;  whence  came  Heath's  Book 
of  Beauty,  Lady  Blessington's  Flowers  of  Loveliness, 
Bulwer's  Pilgrims  of  the  Rhine,  Butler's  Leaflets  of 
Memory,  Christinas  with  the  Poets,  and  many  others  of 
similar  design  and  execution.  Many  of  the  engravings 
of  these  works  cost  500  dollars  each,  and  many  a  piece 
of  poetry  50  dollars  a  page.  On  several  of  these  works 
the  public  spent  50,000  dollars  a-year ! 

At  last  the  race  of  Annuals  drew  near  the  end  of  its 
career,  yet  not  without  having  produced  a  certain  revolu 
tion  in  the  public  taste.  Their  existence  had  sprung,  at 
least  in  part,  from  steel-engraving,  which  had  been  in 
vented  and  introduced  by  our  countryman,  Jacob  Perkins. 
This  enabled  the  artist  to  produce  works  of  greater 
delicacy  than  had  ever  before  been  achieved ;  steel  also 
gave  the  large  number  of  impressions  which  the  exten 
sive  sales  of  the  Annuals  demanded,  and  which  could  not 
have  been  obtained  from  copper.  These  works  scattered 
gems  of  art  far  and  wide,  making  the  reading  mass 
familiar  with  fine  specimens  of  engraving ;  and  not  only 
cultivating  an  appetite  for  this  species  of  luxury,  but  ex 
alting  the  general  standard  of  taste  all  over  the  civilized 
world. 

And  thus,  though  the  Annuals,  by  name,  have  per- 


220  PBTKR     PARLEY'S 

ished,  they  have  left  a  strong  necessity  in  the  public  mind 
for  books  enriched  by  all  the  embellishments  of  art. 
Hence  we  have  illustrated  editions  of  Byron,  Rogers, 
Thomson,  Cowper,  Campbell,  and  others ;  including  our 
own  poets,  Bryant,  Halleck,  Sigourney,  Longfellow, 
Read,  &c.  Wood-engraving,  which  since  then  has  risen 
into  such  inportance,  has  lent  its  potent  aid  in  making 
books  one  of  the  chief  luxuries  of  society,  from  the 
nursery  to  the  parlor. 

In  comparison  with  many  of  these  works,  the  Token 
was  a  very  modest  affair.  The  first  year  I  offered  prizes 
for  the  best  pieces  in  prose  and  poetry.  The  highest  for 
prose  was  awarded  to  the  author  of  Some  Passages  in  the 
Life  of  an  Old  Maid.  A  mysterious  man,  in  a  mysterious 
way,  presented  himself  for  the  money,  and,  giving  due 
evidence  of  his  authority  to  receive  it,  it  was  paid  to 
him  ;  but  who  the  author  really  was  never  transpired, 
though  I  had,  and  still  have,  my  confident  guess  upon 
the  subject.  Even  the  subsequent  volumes,  though  they 
obtained  favor  in  their  day,  did  not  approach  the  splen 
dor  of  the  modern  works  of  a  similar  kind.  Nevertheless, 
some  of  the  engravings,  from  the  designs  of  Allston, 
Leslie,  Newton,  Cole,  Inman,  Chapman,  Fisher,  Brown, 
Alexander,  Healy,  and  others,  were  very  clever,  even 
compared  with  the  finest  works  of  the  present  day. 

The  literary  contributions  were,  I  believe,  equal,  on  the 
.  whole,  to  any  of  the  Annuals,  American  or  European. 
Here  were  inserted  some  of  the  earliest  productions  of 
Willie,  Hawthorne,  Miss  Francis  (now  Mrs.  Child),  Miss 
Sedgwick,  Mrs.  Hale,  Pierpont,  Greenwood,  and  Long 
fellow.  Several  of  these  authors  first  made  acquaintance 
with  the  public  through  the  pages  of  this  work.  It  is 
a  curious  fact  that  the  latter,  Longfellow,  wrote  prose,  and 


OWN      STORY.  221 

at  that  period  had  shown  neither  a  strong  bias  nor  a 
particular  talent  for  poetry. 

The  Token  was  continued  annually  till  1842,  when  it 
finally  ceased.  The  day  of  Annuals  had,  indeed,  passed 
before  this  was  given  up;  and  the  last  two  or  three 
years  it  had  only  lingered  out  a  poor  and  fading  existence. 
As  a  matter  of  business,  it  scarcely  paid  its  expenses,  and 
was  a  serious  drawback  upon  my  time  and  resources  for 
fifteen  years ;  a  punishment,  no  doubt,  fairly  due  to  an 
obstinate  pride,  which  made  me  reluctant  to  abandon  a 
work  with  which  my  name  and  feelings  had  become  some 
what  identified. 

19* 


CHAPTER    XXIV. 

"  THE  TOKUN  "  — N.  P.  WILLIS  AND  NATHANIEL  HAWTHOBNE— COMPABISOW 
BETWEEN  THEM — LADY  AUTHOBS — PUBLI8HEB8'  PEOFIT8— AUTHORS  AND 
PUBLISHERS. 

I  MAY  here  say,  with  propriety,  a  few  words  more  as 
to  the  contributors  for  the  Token.  The  most  prominent 
writer  for  it  was  N.  P.  Willis  ;  his  articles  were  the  most 
read,  the  most  admired,  the  most  abused,  and  the  most 
advantageous  to  the  work.  I  published  his  first  book ; 
and  his  two  first  editorial  engagements  were  with  me : 
hence  the  early  portion  of  his  literary  career  fell  under 
my  special  notice. 

He  had  begun  to  write  verses  very  early ;  and  while 
in  College,  before  he  was  eighteen,  he  had  acquired  an 
extended  reputation,  under  the  signature  of  "  Roy."  In 
1827,  when  he  was  just  twenty  years  old,  I  published  his 
volume,  entitled  Sketches.  It  elicited  quite  a  shower  of 
criticism,  in  which  praise  and  blame  were  about  equally 
dispensed :  at  the  same  time  the  work  sold  with  a  readi 
ness  quite  unusual  for  a  book  of  poetry  at  that  period.  It 
is  not  calculated  to  establish  the  infallibility  of  critics,  to 
look  over  these  notices  at  the  present  day :  many  of  the 
pieces  which  were  then  condemned  have  now  taken  their 
places  among  the  acknowledged  gems  of  our  literature  ; 
and  others,  which  excited  praise  at  the  time,  have  faded 
from  the  public  remembrance. 


PETER     PARLEY'S      OWN      STORY.          223 

One  thing  is  certain,  everybody  thought  Willis  worth 
criticising.  He  has  been,  I  suspect,  more  written  about 
than  any  other  literary  man  in  the  history  of  American 
literature.  Some  of  the  attacks  upon  him  proceeded,  no 
doubt,  from  a  conviction  that  he  was  a  man  of  extraordi 
nary  gifts,  and  yet  of  extraordinary  affectations ;  and  the 
lash  was  applied  in  kindness,  as  that  of  a  schoolmaster  to 
a  beloved  pupil's  back ;  some  of  them  were  dictated  by 
envy ;  for  we  have  had  no  other  example  of  literary  suc 
cess  so  early,  so  general,  and  so  flattering.  That  Mr. 
Willis  made  mistakes  in  literature  and  life,  at  the  outset, 
may  be  admitted  by  his  best  friends ;  for  it  must  be  re 
membered  that,  before  he  was  five-and-twenty,  he  was 
more  read  than  any  other  American  poet  of  his  time ; 
and  besides,  being  possessed  of  an  easy  and  captivating 
address,  he  became  the  pet  of  society,  and  especially  of 
the  fairer  portion  of  it.  Since  that  period,  his  life,  on  the 
whole,  has  been  one  of  serious,  useful,  and  successful 
labor.  His  reputation  as  a  poet  has  hardly  advanced, 
and  probably  the  public  generally  regard  some  of  his 
early  verses  as  his  best.  As  an  essayist,  however,  he 
stands  in  the  first  rank ;  distinguished  for  a  keen  sagacity 
in  analyzing  society,  a  fine  perception  of  the  beauties  of 
nature,  and  an  extraordinary  talent  for  endowing  trifles 
with  interest  and  meaning.  As  a  traveller,  he  is  among 
the  most  entertaining,  sagacious,  and  instructive. 

His  style  is  certainly  peculiar,  and  is  deemed  affected, 
tending  to  an  excess  of  refinement,  and  displaying  an 
undue  hankering  for  grace  and  melody ;  sometimes 
sacrificing  sense  to  sound.  This  might  once  have  been  a 
iust  criticism,  but  the  candid  reader  of  his  works  now  be 
fore  the  public  will  deem  it  hypercritical.  His  style  is 
suited  to  his  thought ;  it  is  flexible,  graceful,  musical,  and 


224  PETER     PARLEY'S 

is  adapted  to  the  playful  wit,  the  piquant  sentiment,  the 
artistic  descriptions  of  sea,  earth,  and  sky,  of  which  they 
are  the  vehicle.  In  the  seeming  exhaustlessness  of  his 
resources,  in  his  prolonged  freshness,  in  his  constantly- 
increasing  strength,  Mr.  Willis  has  refuted  all  the  early 
prophets,  who  regarded  him  only  as  a  precocity,  destined 
to  shine  a  few  brief  years  and  fade  away. 

As  to  his  personal  character,  I  need  only  say,  that 
from  the  beginning  he  had  a  larger  circle  of  steadfast 
friends  than  almost  any  man  within  my  knowledge. 
There  has  been  something  in  his  works  which  has  made 
women  generally  both  his  literary  and  personal  admirers. 
For  so  many  favors  he  has  given  the  world  an  ample  re 
turn  ;  for,  with  all  his  imputed  literary  faults — some  real 
and  some  imaginary — I  regard  him  as  having  contributed 
more  to  the  amusement  of  society  than  almost  any  other 
of  our  living  authors. 

It  is  not  easy  to  conceive  of  a  stronger  contrast  than 
is  presented  by  comparing  Nathaniel  Hawthorne  with 
N.  P.  Willis.  The  former  was  for  a  time  one  of  the  prin 
cipal  writers  for  the  Token,  and  his  admirable  sketches 
were  published  side  by  sicje  with  those  of  the  latter. 
Yet  it  is  curious  to  remark,  that  everything  Willis  wrote 
attracted  immediate  attention,  and  excited  ready  praise, 
while  the  productions  of  Hawthorne  were  almost  entirely 
unnoticed. 

The  personal  appearance  and  demeanor  of  these  two 
gifted  young  men,  at  the  early  period  of  which  I  speak, 
was  also  in  striking  contrast.  Willis  was  slender,  his 
hair  sunny  and  silken,  his  cheeks  ruddy,  his  aspect  cheer 
ful  and  confident.  He  met  society  with  a  ready  and 
welcome  hand,  and  was  received  readily  and  with  wel 
come.  Hawthorne,  on  the  contrary,  was  of  a  rather 


OWN     STOKY.  226 

sturdy  form,  his  hair  dark  and  bushy,  his  eyes  steel-grey, 
his  brow  thick,  his  mouth  sarcastic,  his  complexion  stony, 
his  whole  aspect  cold,  moody,  distrustful.  He  stood 
aloof,  and  surveyed  the  world  from  shy  and  sheltered 
positions. 

There  was  a  corresponding  difference  in  the  writings 
of  these  two  persons.  Willis  was  all  sunshine  and  sum 
mer,  the  other  chill,  dark,  and  wintry ;  the  one  was  full 
of  love  and  hope,  the  other  of  doubt  and  distrust ;  the 
one  sought  the  open  daylight — sunshine,  flowers,  music — 
and  found  them  everywhere ;  the  other  plunged  into  the 
dim  caverns  of  the  mind,  and  studied  the  grisly  spectres 
of  jealousy,  remorse,  despair. 

I  had  seen  some  anonymous  publication  which  seemed 
to  me  to  indicate  extraordinary  powers.  I  inquired  of 
the  publishers  as  to  the  writer,  and  through  them  a  cor 
respondence  ensued  between  me  and  "  N.  Hawthorne." 
This  name  I  considered  a  disguise,  and  it  was  not  till 
after  many  letters  had  passed  that  I  met  the  author,  and 
found  it  to  be  his  true  title,  representing  a  very  substan 
tial  personage.  At  this  period  he  was  unsettled  as  to  his 
views  :  he  had  tried  his  hand  in  literature,  and  consider 
ed  himself  to  have  met  with  a  fatal  rebuff  from  the  read 
ing  world.  His  mind  vacillated  between  various  projects, 
verging,  I  think,  toward  a  mercantile  profession.  I  com 
bated  his  despondence,  and  assured  him  of  triumph,  if  he 
would  persevere  in  a  literary  career. 

He  wrote  numerous  articles,  which  appeared  in  the 
Token :  occasionally  an  astute  critic  seemed  to  see 
through  them,  and  to  discover  the  mind  that  was  in 
them  ;  but  in  general  they  passed  without  notice.  Such 
articles  as  "  Sights  from  a  Steeple,"  "  Sketches  beneath 
an  Umbrella,"  the  "  Wives  of  the  Dead,"  the  "Prophetic 


226  PETEE     PARLEY'S 

Pictures,"  now  universally  acknowledged  to  be  produc 
tions  of  extraordinary  deptb,  meaning,  and  power, — ex 
torted  hardly  a  word  of  either  praise  or  blame,  while 
columns  were  given  to  pieces  since  totally  forgotten.  I 
felt  annoyed,  almost  angry,  indeed,  at  this.  I  wrote 
several  articles  in  the  papers,  directing  attention  to  these 
productions,  and  finding  no  echo  of  my  views,  I  recollect 
to  have  asked  John  Pickering,  a  gentleman  in  whose 
critical  powers  I  had  great  confidence,  to  read  some  of 
them,  and  give  me  his  opinion  of  them.  He  did  as  I  re 
quested  ;  his  answer  was  that  they  displayed  a  wonderful 
beauty  of  style,  with  a  sort  of  second-sight,  which  re 
vealed,  beyond  the  outward  forms  of  life  and  being,  a 
sort  of  spirit-world,  somewhat  as  a  lake  reflects  the  earth 
around  it  and  the  sky  above  it ;  yet  he  deemed  them  too 
mystical  to  be  popular.  He  was  right,  no  doubt,  at  that 
period ;  but,  ere  long,  a  large  portion  of  the  reading 
world  obtained  a  new  sense — how,  or  where,  or  whence, 
is  not  easily  determined — which  led  them  to  study  the 
mystical,  to  dive  beneath  and  beyond  the  senses.  Haw 
thorne  was,  in  fact,  a  kind  of  Wordsworth  in  prose  :  less 
kindly,  less  genial  toward  mankind,  but  deeper  and  more 
philosophical.  His  fate  was  similar :  at  first  he  was 
neglected,  at  last  he  had  worshippers. 

In  1837  I  recommended  Mr.  Hawthorne  to  publish  a 
volume,  comprising  his  various  pieces,  which  had  ap 
peared  in  the  Token  and  elsewhere.  He  consented,  but 
as  I  had  ceased  to  be  a  publisher,  it  was  difficult  to  find 
any  one  who  would  undertake  to  bring  out  the  work.  I 
applied  to  the  agent  of  the  Stationers'  Company,  but  he 
refused ;  until  at  last  I  relinquished  my  copyrights  on 
such  of  the  tales  as  I  had  published  to  Mr.  Hawthorne, 
and  joined  a  friend  of  his  in  a  bond  to  indemnify  them 


OWN      STOKY.  227 

against  loss ;  and  thus  the  work  was  published  by  the 
Stationers'  Company,  under  the  title  of  Twice-Told 
Tales,  and  for  the  author's  benefit.  It  was  deemed  a 
failure  for  more  than  a  year,  when  a  breeze  seemed  to 
rise  and  fill  its  sails,  and  with  it  the  author  was  carried 
on  to  fame  and  fortune. 

Among  the  most  successful  of  the  writers  for  the 
Token  was  Miss  Francis,  now  Mrs.  Child.  I  have  not 
seen  her  for  many  years,  but  I  have  many  pleasant  re 
membrances  of  her  lively  conversation,  her  saucy  wit, 
her  strong  good  sense,  and  her  most  agreeable  person 
and  presence.  To  Rev.  F.  W.  P.  Greenwood  I  was  in 
debted  not  only  for  some  of  the  best  contributions,  but 
for  excellent  counsel  and  advice  in  my  literary  affairs. 
He  was  a  man  of  genius,  gentle  manners,  and  apostolic 
dignity  of  life  and  character. 

To  Mr.  Pierpont  I  was  indebted  for  encouragement 
and  sympathy  in  my  whole  career,  and  for  some  of  the 
best  poems  which  appeared  in  the  work  I  am  noticing.  I 
remember  once  to  have  met  him,  and  to  have  asked  him 
to  give  me  a  contribution  for  the  Token.  He  stopped 
and  said,  reflectingly,  "I  had  a  dream  not  long  ago, 
which  I  have  thought  to  put  into  verse.  I  will  try,  and  if 
I  am  successful  you  shall  have  it."  A  few  days  after  he 
gave  me  the  lines,  now  in  all  the  gem-books,  begining, — 

"  Was  it  the  chime  of  a  tiny  bell 

That  came  so  sweet  to  my  dreaming  ear- 
Like  the  silvery  tones  of  a  fairy's  shell, 

That  he  winds  on  the  beach  so  mellow  and  clear, 
When  the  winds  and  the  waves  lie  together  asleep, 
And  the  moon  and  the  fairy  are  watching  the  deep- 
She  dispensing  her  silvery  light, 
And  he  his  notes,  as  silvery  quite, 


228  PETER    PARLEY'S 

While  the  boatman  listens  and  ships  his  oar, 
To  catch  the  music  that  comes  from  the  shore  ? 
Hark  1  the  notes  on  my  ear  'that  play 
Are  set  to  words  ;  as  they  float,  they  say, 
'  Passing  away,  passing  away  I'  " 

Next  to  Willis,  Mrs.  Sigourney  was  my  most  success 
ful  and  liberal  contributor :  to  her  I  am  indebted  for  a 
large  part  of  the  success  of  my  editorial  labors  in  the 
matter  now  referred  to.  To  Miss  Sedgwick,  also,  the 
Token  owes  a  large  share  of  its  credit  with  the  public. 
To  B.  B.  Thacher,  also  among  the  good  and  the  departed ; 
to-  Mrs.  Osgood,  to  John  Neale,  A.  H.  Everett,  Mr.  Long 
fellow,  H.  T.  Tuckerman,  Epes  and  John  Sargent, 
Miss  Leslie,  J.  T.  Fields,  O.  W.  Holmes — to  all  these, 
and  to  many  others,  I  owe  the  kind  remembrance 
which  belongs  to  good  deeds,  kindly  and  graciously  be 
stowed. 

It  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  in  a  long  career,  both  as 
bookseller  and  editor,  I  should  have  escaped  altogether 
the  annoyances  and  vexations  which  naturally  attach  to 
these  vocations.  The  relation  of  author  and  publisher  is 
generally  regarded  as  that  of  the  cat  and  the  dog,  both 
greedy  of  the  bone,  and  inherently  jealous  of  each  other. 
The  authors  have  hitherto  written  the  accounts  of  the 
wrangles  between  these  two  parties,  and  the  publishers 
have  been  traditionally  gibbeted  as  a  set  of  mean,  mer 
cenary  wretches,  coining  the  heart's  blood  of  genius  for 
their  own  selfish  profits.  Great  minds,  even  in  modern 
times,  have  not  been  above  this  historical  prejudice.  The 
poet  Campbell  is  said  to  have  been  an  admirer  of  Napo 
leon  because  he  shot  a  bookseller. 

Nevertheless,  speaking  from  my  own  experience,  I  sus 
pect,  if  the  truth  were  told,  that,  even  in  cases  where  the 


OWN     STORY.  229 

•world  has  been  taught  to  bestow  all  its  sympathy  in  be 
half  of  the  author,  it  would  appear  that  while  there  were 
claws  on  one  side  there  were  teeth  on  the  other.  My 
belief  is,  that  where  there  have  been  quarrels  there  have 
generally  been  mutual  provocations.  I  know  of  nothing 
more  vexatious,  more  wearisome,  more  calculated  to  be 
get  impatience,  than  the  egotisms,  the  exactions,  the 
unreasonableness  of  authors,  in  cases  I  have  witnessed. 
That  there  may  be  examples  of  meanness,  stupidity,  and 
selfishness  in  publishers,  is  indisputable.  But,  in  general, 
I  am  satisfied  that  an  author  who  will  do  justice  to  a  pub 
lisher  will  have  justice  in  return. 

I  could  give  some  curious  instances  of  this.  A  school 
master  came  to  me  once  with  a  marvellously  clever  gram 
mar  ;  it  was  sure  to  overturn  all  others.  He  had  figured 
out  his  views  in  a  neat  hand,  like  copper-plate.  He  es 
timated  that  there  were  always  a  million  of  children  at 
school  who  would  need  his  grammar;  providing  for 
books  worn  out,  and  a  supply  for  new  comers,  half-a-mil- 
lion  would  be  wanted  every  year.  At  one  cent  a  copy 
for  the  author — which  he  insisted  was  exceedingly  mod 
erate — this  would  produce  to  him  five  thousand  dollars 
a-year ;  but  if  I  would  publish  the  work,  he  would  con 
descend  to  take  half  that  sum  annually,  during  the  ex 
tent  of  the  copyright — twenty-eight  years  !  I  declined, 
and  he  seriously  believed  me  a  heartless  blockhead.  He 
obtained  a  publisher  at  last,  but  the  work  never  reached 
a  second  edition.  Every  publisher  is  laden  with  similar 
experiences. 

I  once  employed  a  young  man  to  block  out  some  little 
books  to  be  published  under  the  nominal  authorship  of 
Solomon  Bell :  these  I  remodelled,  and  one  or  two  vol 
umes  were  issued.  Some  over-astute  critic  announced 
20 


230  PETER     PARLEY'S 

them  as  veritable  Peter  Parleys,  and  they  had  a  sudden 
sale.  The  young  man  who  had  assisted  me,  and  who  was 
under  the  most  solemn  obligations  to  keep  the  matter 
secret,  thought  he  had  an  opportunity  to  make  his  for 
tune  ;  so  he  publicly  claimed  the  authorship,  and  accused 
me  of  duplicity  !  The  result  was  that  the  books  fell 
dead  from  that  hour ;  the  series  was  stopped ;  and  his 
unprinted  manuscripts,  for  which  I  had  paid  him,  became 
utterly  worthless.  A  portion  I  burnt,  and  a  portion  still 
remain  amidst  the  rubbish  of  other  days. 

In  other  instances  I  was  attacked  in  the  papers,  editorially 
and  personally,  by  individuals  who  were  living  upon  the 
employment  I  gave  them.  I  was  in  daily  intercourse 
with  persons  of  this  character,  who,  while  flattering  me 
to  my  face,  I  knew  to  be  hawking  at  me  in  print.  These 
[  regarded  and  treated  as  trifles  at  the  time ;  they  are 
(ess  than  trifles  now.  One  thing  may  be  remarked,  that, 
n  general,  such  difficulties  come  from  poor  and  unsuc 
cessful  writers.  They  have  been  taught  that  publishers 
and  booksellers  are  vampires,  and  naturally  feed  upon  the 
vitals  of  genius;  assuming — honestly,  no  doubt — that 
they  are  of  this  latter  class,  they  feel  no  great  scruple  in 
in  taking  vengeance  upon  those  whom  they  regard  as 
their  natural  enemies. 

My  editorial  experience  also  furnished  me  with  some 
amusing  anecdotes.  An  editor  of  a  periodical  once  sent 
me  an  article  for  the  Token,  entitled  La  Longue-vue  ;  the 
pith  of  the  story  consisted  in  a  romantic  youth's  falling 
in  love  with  a  young  lady,  two  miles  off,  through  a  teles 
cope  !  I  ventured  to  reject  \t ;  and  the  Token  for  that 
year  was  duly  damned  in  the  columns  of  the  offended 
author. 

In  judging  of  publishers  one  thing  should  be  con- 


OWN       STORY.  231 

sidered,  and  that  is,  that  two-thirds  of  the  original  works 
issued  by  them  are  unprofitable.  An  eminent  London 
publisher  once  told  me,  that  he  calculated  that  out  of 
ten  publications  four  involved  a  positive,  and  often  a 
heavy,  loss ;  three  barely  paid  the  cost  of  paper,  print, 
and  advertising;  and  three  paid  a  profit.  Nothing  is 
more  common  than  for  a  publisher  to  pay  money  to  an 
author,  every  farthing  of  which  is  lost.  Self-preservation, 
therefore,  compels  the  publisher  to  look  carefully  to  his 
operations.  One  thing  is  certain,  he  is  generally  the  very 
best  judge  as  to  the  value  of  a  book,  in  a  marketable 
point  of  view :  if  he  rejects  it,  it  is  solely  because  he 
thinks  it  will  not  pay,  not  because  he  despises  genius. 

Happily,  at  the  present  day,  the  relations  between 
these  two  parties — authors  and  publishers — are  on  a  bet 
ter  footing  than  in  former  times.  Indeed,  a  great  change 
has  taken  place  in  the  relative  positions  of  the  two 
classes.  Nothing  is  now  more  marketable  than  good 
writing,  whatever  may  be  its  form — poetry  or  prose,  fact 
or  fiction,  reason  or  romance.  Starving,  neglected, 
abused  genius,  is  a  myth  of  bygone  times.  If  an  author 
is  poorly  paid,  it  is  because  he  writes  poorly.  I  do  not 
think,  indeed,  that  authors  are  adequately  paid,  for 
authorship  does  not  stand  on  a  level  with  other  profes 
sions  as  to  pecuniary  recompense,  but  it  is  certain  that  a 
clever,  industrious,  and  judicious  writer  may  make  his 
talent  the  means  of  living. 


CHAPTEE    XXY. 

B1COME  AN  AUTHOR — HIS  REAL  NAME  A  PROFOUND  SECRET — BOW  IT  WAS 
DIVULGED — GREAT  SUCCESS — ILLNESS — THE  DOCTORS  DISAGREE— ENGLISH 
IMITATIONS  —  CONDUCT  OF  A  LONDON  BOOKSELLER — OBJECTIONS  TO 
PARLEY'S  TALES— MOTHER  GOOSE. 

i- 

THOUGH  I  was  busily  engaged  in  publishing  various 
works,  I  found  time  to  make  my  long-meditated  experi 
ment  in  the  writing  of  books  for  children.  The  first 
attempt  was  made  in  1827,  and  bore  the  title  of  the 
Tales  of  Peter  Parley  about  America.  No  persons  but 
my  wife  and  one  of  my  sisters  were  admitted  to  the 
secret :  for,  in  the  first  place,  I  hesitated  to  believe  that  I 
was  qualified  to  appear  before  the  public  as  an  author  ; 
and,  in  the  next  place,  nursery  literature  had  not  then 
acquired  the  respect  in  the  eyes  of  the  world  it  now 
enjoys.  It  is  since  that  period  that  persons  of  acknowl 
edged  genius — Scott,  Dickens,  Lamartine,  Mary  Howitt, 
in  Europe ;  and  Todd,  Gallaudet,  Abbott,  Miss  Sedgwick, 
Mrs.  Child,  and  others,  in  America — have  stooped  to  the 
composition  of  books  for  children  and  youth. 

I  published  my  little  book,  and  let  it  make  its  way.  It 
came  before  the  world  untrumpeted,  and  for  some  months 
seemed  not  to  attract  the  slightest  attention.  Suddenly  I 
began  to  see  notices  of  it  in  the  papers  all  over  the 
country,  and  in  a  year  from  the  date  of  its  publication  it 


PETER  PARLEY'S  OWN   8TORT.    233 

had  become  a  favorite.  In  1828  I  published  the  Tales 
of  Peter  Parley  about  Europe;  in  1829,  Parley's  Win 
ter  Evening  Tales;  in  1830,  Parley's  Juvenile  Tales, 
and  Parley's  Asia,  Africa,  Sun,  Moon,  and  Stars.  About 
this  time  the  public  guessed  my  secret.  Mrs.  Sarah  J. 
Hale,  to  whom  I  am  indebted  for  many  kind  offices  in  my 
literary  career,  first  discovered  and  divulged  it;  yet  I 
could  have  wished  she  had  not  done  me  this  questionable 
favor.  Though  the  authorship  of  the  Parley  books  has 
been  to  me  a  source  of  some  gratification,  you  will  see, 
in  the  sequel,  that  it  has  also  subjected  me  to  endless 
vexations. 

I  shall  not  enter  into  the  details  of  my  proceedings  at 
this  busy  and  absorbed  period  of  my  life.  I  had  now 
obtained  a  humble  position  in  literature,  and  was  suc 
cessful  in  such  unambitious  works  as  I  attempted.  I 
gave  myself  up  almost  wholly  for  about  four  years — that 
is,  from  1828  to  1832 — to  authorship,  generally  writing 
fourteen  hours  a-day. — A  part  of  the  time  I  was  entirely 
unable  to  read,  and  could  write  but  little,  on  account  01 
the  weakness  of  my  eyes.  In  my  larger  publications  I 
employed  persons  to  block  out  work  for  me :  this  was 
read  to  me,  and  then  I  put  it  into  style,  generally  writing 
by  dictation,  my  wife  being  my  amanuensis.  Thus  em 
barrassed,  I  still,  by  dint  of  incessant  toil,  produced  five 
or  six  volumes  a-year,  most  of  them  small,  but  some  of 
larger  compass. 

In  the  midst  of  these  labors — that  is,  in  the  spring  of 
1832 — I  was  suddenly  attacked  with  symptoms  which 
seemed  to  indicate  a  disease  of  the  heart,  rapidly  ad 
vancing  to  a  fatal  termination.  In  the  course  of  a  fort- 
night  I  was  so  reduced  as  not  to  be  able  to  mount  a  pair 
of  stairs  without  help,  and  a  short  walk  produced  palpita- 


234  PETER     PARLEY'S 

tion  of  the  heart,  so  violent,  in  several  instances,  as  almost 
to  deprive  me  of  consciousness.  There  seemed  no  hope  but 
in  turning  my  back  upon  my  business,  and  seeking  a  total 
change  of  scene  and  climate.  In  May  I  embarked  for 
England,  and  after  a  few  weeks  reached  Paris.  I  here 
applied  to  Baron  Larroque,  who,  assisted  by  L'Herminier 
— both  eminent  in  the  treatment  of  diseases  of  the  heart 
— subjected  me  to  various  experiments,  but  without  the 
slightest  advantage.  At  this  period  I  was  obliged  to  be 
carried  upstairs,  and  never  ventured  to  walk  or  ride  alone, 
being  constantly  subject  to  nervous  spasms,  which  often 
brought  me  to  the  verge  of  suffocation. 

Despairing  of  relief  here,  I  proceeded  to  London,  and 
was  carefully  examined  by  Sir  Benjamin  Brodie.  He 
declared  that  I  had  no  organic  disease  ;  that  my  difficulty 
was  nervous  irritability;  and  that  whereas  the  French 
physicians  had  interdicted  wine,  and  required  me  to  live 
on  a  light  vegetable  diet,  I  must  feed  well  upon  good 
roast  beef,  and  take  two  generous  glasses  of  port  with 
my  dinner !  Thus  encouraged,  I  passed  on  to  Edinburgh, 
where  I  consulted  Abercrombie,  then  at  the  height  of 
his  fame.  He  confirmed  the  views  of  Dr.  Brodie,  in  the 
main ;  and,  regarding  the  irregularity  of  my  vital  organs 
as  merely  functional,  still  told  me  that,  without  shorten 
ing  my  life,  it  would  probably  never  be  wholly  removed. 
He  told  me  of  an  instance  in  which  a  patient  of  his, 
•who,  having  been  called  upon  to  testify  before  the  com 
mittee  of  the  House  of  Commons,  in  the  trial  of  Warren 
Hastings,  from  mere  embarrassment  had  been  seized  with 
palpitation  of  the  heart,  which,  however,  continued  till 
his  death,  many  years  after.  Even  this  sombre  view  of 
my  case  was  then  a  relief.  Four-and-twenty  years  have 
passed  since  that  period,  and  thus  far  my  experience  has 


OWN      STORY.  235 

verified  Dr.  Abercombie's  prediction.  These  nervous 
attacks  pursue  me  to  this  day  :  yet  I  have  become  familiar 
with  them ;  and,  regarding  them  only  as  troublesome 
visitors,  I  receive  them  patiently  and  bow  them  out  as 
gently  as  I  can. 

After  an  absence  of  six  months  I  returned  to  Boston, 
and,  by  the  advice  of  my  physician,  took  UD  my  residence 
in  the  country.  I  built  a  house  at  Jamaica  Plain,  four 
miles  from  the  city,  and  here  I  continued  for  more  than 
twenty  years.  My  health  was  partially  restored,  and  I 
resumed  my  literary  labors,  which  I  continued  steadily, 
from  1833  to  1850,  with  a  few  episodes  of  lecturing  and 
legislating,  three  voyages  to  Europe,  and  an  extensive 
tour  to  the  South.  It  would  be  tedious  and  unprofitable, 
were  I  even  to  enumerate  my  various  works,  produced 
from  the  beginning  to  the  present  time.  I  may  sum  up 
the  whole  in  a  single  sentence:  I  am  the  author  and 
editor  of  about  one  hundred  and  seventy  volumes,  and 
of  these  seven  millions  have  been  sold  ! 

I  have  said,  that  however  the  authorship  of  Parley's 
Tales  has  made  me  many  friends,  it  has  also  subjected 
me  to  many  annoyances.  When  I  was  in  London,  in 
1832,  I  learned  that  Mr.  Tegg,  a  prominent  publisher 
there,  had  commenced  the  republication  of  Parley's 
Tales.  I  called  upon  him,  and  found  that  he  had  one  of 
them  actually  in  the  press.  The  result  of  our  interview 
was  a  contract,  in  which  I  engaged  to  prepare  several  of 
these  works,  which  he  agreed  to  publish,  allowing  me  a 
small  consideration.  Four  of  these  works  I  prepared  on 
the  spot,  and  after  my  return  to  America  prepared  and 
forwarded  ten  others.  Some  time  after,  I  learned  that 
the  books,  or  at  least  a  portion  of  them,  had  been 
published  in  London,  and  were  very  successful.  I  wrote 


236  PETER     PARLEY'S 

several  letters  to  Mr.  Tegg  on  the  subject,  but  could  get 
no  reply. 

Ten  years  passed  away,  and  being  in  pressing  need  of 
all  that  I  might  fairly  claim  as  my  due,  I  went  to  Lon 
don,  and  asked  him  to  render  me  an  account  of  his  pro 
ceedings  under  the  contract.  I  had  previously  learned, 
on  inquiry,  that  he  had  indeed  published  four  or  five  of 
the  works,  as  we  had  agreed,  but,  taking  advantage  of 
these,  which  passed  readily  into  extensive  circulation,  he 
proceed  to  set  aside  the  contract,  and  to  get  up  a  series  of 
publications  upon  the  model  of  those  I  had  prepared  for 
him,  giving  them  in  the  title-pages  the  name  of  Parley,  and 
passing  them  off,  by  every  artifice  in  his  power,  as  the 
genuine  works  of  that  author.  He  had  thus  published 
over  a  dozen  volumes,  which  he  was  circulating  as  Peter 
Parley's  Library.  The  speculation,  as  I  was  told,  had 
succeeded  admirably ;  and  I  was  assured  that  many 
thousand  pounds  of  profit  had  been  realized  thereby. 

To  my  request  for  an  account  of  his  stewardship  the 
publisher  replied,  in  general  terms,  that  I  was  misinform 
ed  as  to  the  success  of  the  works  in  question ;  that,  in 
fact,  they  had  been  a  very  indifferent  speculation  ;  that 
he  found  the  original  works  were  not  adapted  to  his  pur 
pose,  and  he  had  consequently  got  up  others ;  that  he 
had  created,  by  advertising  and  other  means,  an  interest 
in  these  works,  and  had  thus  greatly  benefited  the  name 
and  fame  of  Parley ;  and,  all  things  considered,  he 
thought  he  had  done  more  for  me  than  I  had  for  him : 
therefore,  in  his  view,  if  we  considered  the  account 
balanced,  we  should  not  be  very  far  from  a  fair  adjust 
ment. 

To  this  answer  I  made  a  suitable  reply,  but  without 
obtaining  the  slightest  satisfaction.  The  contract  I  had 


OWN      STORT.  237 

made  was  a  hasty  memorandum,  and  judicially,  perhaps, 
of  no  binding  effect  on  him.  And  besides,  I  had  no 
money  to  expend  in  litigation.  A  little  reflection  satis 
fied  me  that  I  was  totally  at  his  mercy  :  a  fact  of  which 
his  calm  and  collected  manner  assured  me  he  was  even 
more  conscious  than  myself.  The  discussion  was  not 
prolonged.  At  the  second  interview  he  cut  the  whole 
matter  short,  by  saying, — "  Sir,  I  do  not  owe  you  a 
farthing :  neither  justice  nor  law  requires  me  to  pay  you 
anything.  Still,  I  am  an  old  man,  and  have  seen  a  good 
deal  of  life,  and  have  learned  to  consider  the  feelings  of 
others  as  well  as  my  own.  I  will  pay  you  four  hundred 
pounds,  and  we  will  be  quits !  If  we  cannot  do  this,  we 
can  do  nothing.'  In  view  of  the  whole  case,  this  was  as 
much  as  I  expected,  and  so  I  accepted  the  proposition. 
I  earnestly  remonstrated  with  him  against  the  enormity 
of  making  me  responsible  for  works  I  never  wrote,  but 
as  to  all  actual  claims  on  the  ground  of  the  contract  I 
gave  him  a  receipt  in  full,  and  we  parted. 

It  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  the  annoyances  arising 
from  the  falsification  of  the  name  of  Parley,  which  I  have 
just  pointed  out,  have  been  the  only  obstacles  which 
have  roughened  the  current  of  my  literary  life.  Not 
only  the  faults  and  imperfections  of  execution  in  my 
juvenile  works — and  no  one  knows  them  so  well  as  my 
self — have  been  urged  against  them,  but  the  whole  theory 
on  which  they  are  founded  has  been  often  and  elaborately 
impugned. 

It  is  quite  true,  that  when  I  wrote  the  first  half-dozen 
of  Parley's  Tales  I  had  formed  no  philosophy  upon  the 
subject :  I  simply  used  my  experience  with  children  in 
addressing  them.  I  followed  no  models,  I  put  on  no 
harness  of  the  schools,  I  pored  over  no  learned  examples. 


238  PETER     PARLEY'S 

I  imagined  myself  on  the  floor  with  a  group  of  boys  and 
girls,  and  I  wrote  to  them  as  I  would  have  spoken  to 
them.  At  a  later  period  I  had  reflected  on  the  subject, 
and  embodied  in  a  few  simple  lines  the  leading  principle 
of  what  seemed  to  me  the  true  art  of  teaching  children, 
— and  that  is,  to  consider  that  their  first  ideas  are  simple 
and  single,  and  formed  of  images  of  things  palpable  to 
the  senses ;  and  hence  that  these  images  are  to  form  the 
staple  of  lessons  to  be  communicated  to  them. 

THE  TEACHER'S  LESSON. 

I  saw  a  child,  some  four  years  old, 

Along  a  meadow  stray ; 
Alone  she  went,  uncheck'd,  untold, 

Her  home  not  far  away. 

She  gazed  around  on  earth  and  sky, 

Now  paused,  and  now  proceeded ; 
Hill,  valley,  wood,  she  passed  them  by 

Unmarked,  perchance  unheeded. 

And  now  gay  groups  of  roses  bright 

In  circling  thickets  bound  her — 
Tet  on  she  went  with  footsteps  light, 

Still  gazing  all  around  her. 

And  now  she  paused,  and  now  she  stooped, 

And  plucked  a  little  flower ; 
A  simple  daisy  'twas,  that  drooped 

Within  a  rosy  bower. 

The  child  did  kiss  the  little  gem, 

And  to  her  bosom  press'd  it ; 
And  there  she  placed  the  fragile  stem, 

And  with  soft  words  caressed  it. 


OWN     STORY.  239 

I  love  to  read  a  lesson  true 

From  nature's  open  book — 
And  oft  I  learn  a  lesson  new 

From  childhood's  careless  look. 

Children  are  simple,  loving,  true— 

'Tis  God  that  made  them  so ; 
And  would  you  teach  them  ? — be  so,  too, 

And  stoop  to  what  they  know. 

Begin  with  simple  lessons,  things 

On  which  they  love  to  look ; 
Flowers,  pebbles,  insects,  birds  on  wings— 

These  are  God's  spelling-book  1 

And  children  know  His  ABC, 

As  feees  where  flowers  are  set ; 
Wouldst  thou  a  skilful  teacher  be? 

Learn  then  this  alphabet 

From  leaf,  from  page  to  page, 

Guide  thou  thy  pupil's  look ; 
And  when  he  says,  with  aspect  sage, 

"  "Who  made  this  wondrous  book?" 

Point  thou  with  reverend  gaze  to  heaven, 

And  kneel  in  earnest  prayer 
That  lessons  thou  hast  humbly  given 

May  lead  thy  pupil  there  I 

From  this  commencement  I  proceeded,  and  came  to 
the  conclusion  that  in  feeding  the  mind  of  children  with 
facts,  we  follow  the  evident  philosophy  of  nature  and 
Providence  ;  inasmuch  as  these  had  created  all  children 
to  be  ardent  lovers  of  things  they  could  see  and  hear, 
and  feel  and  know.  Thus  I  sought  to  teach  them  histo 
ry,  and  biography,  and  geography,  and  all  in  the  way  in 
which  nature  would  teach  them, — that  is,  by  a  large  use  of 


240  PKTER     PARLEY'S 

the  senses,  and  especially  by  the  eye.  I  selected  as  sub 
jects  for  my  books  things  capable  of  sensible  representa 
tion,  such  as  familiar  animals,  birds,  trees ;  and  of  these 
I  gave  pictures,  as  a  starting-point.  The  first  line  I  wrote 
was,  "  Here  I  am  -,  my  name  is  Peter  Parley ;"  and  be 
fore  I  went  further,  gave  an  engraving  representing  my 
hero,  as  I  wished  him  to  be  conceived  by  my  pupils. 
Before  I  began  to  talk  of  a  lion,  I  gave  a  picture  of  a 
lion  ;  my  object  being,  as  you  will  perceive,  to  have  the 
..••  child  start  with  a  distinct  image  of  what  I  was  about  to 
give  an  account  of.  Thus  I  secured  his  interest  in  the 
subject,  and  thus  I  was  able  to  lead  his  understanding 
forward  in  the  path  of  knowledge. 

These  views,  of  course,  led  me  in  a  direction  exactly 
opposite  to  the  old  theories  in  respect  to  nursery-books, 
in  two  respects.  In  the  first  place,  it  was  thought  that 
education  should,  at  the  ver^  threshold,  seek  to  spiritual 
ize  the  mind,  and  lift  it  above  sensible  ideas,  and  to  teach 
it  to  live  in  the  world  of  imagination.  A  cow  was  very 
well  to  give  milk,  but  when  she  got  into  a  book  she  must 
jump  over  the  moon  ;  a  little  girl  going  to  see  her  grand 
mother  was  well  enough  as  a  matter  of  fact,  but  to  be 
suited  to  the  purposes  of  instruction  she  must  end  her 
career  by  being  eaten  up  by  a  wolf.  My  plan  was,  in 
short,  deemed  too  utilitarian,  too  materialistic,  and  hence 
it  was  condemned  by  many  persons,  and  among  them  the 
larger  portion  of  those  who  had  formed  their  tastes  upon 
the  old  classics,  from  Homer  down  to  Mother  Goose  ! 

This  was  one  objection ;  another,  was  that  I  aimed  at 
making  education  easy — thus  bringing  up  the  child  in 
habits  of  receiving  knowledge  only  as  made  into  pap,  and 
of  course  putting  it  out  of  his  power  to  relish  and  digest 
the  stronger  meat,  even  when  his  constitution  demanded  it. 


OWN     STORY.  241 

On  these  grounds,  and  still  others,  my  little  books  met 
•with  opposition,  sometimes  even  in  grave  Quarterlies,  and 
often  in  those  sanctified  publications,  entitled  "Journals 
of  Education."  In  England,  at  the  period  that  the  name 
of  Parley  was  most  current — both  in  the  genuine  as  well 
as  the  false  editions — the  feeling  against  my  juvenile 
works  was  so  strong  among  the  conservatives,  that  an  at 
tempt  was  made  to  put  them  down  by  reviving  the  old 
nursery-books.  In  order  to  do  this,  a  publisher  in  Lon 
don  reproduced  these  works,  employing  the  best  artists 
to  illustrate  them,  and  bringing  them  out  in  all  the  cap 
tivating  luxuries  of  modern  typography.  Nay,  such  was 
the  reverence  at  the  time  for  the  old  favorites  of  the  nur 
sery,  that  a  gentleman  of  the  name  of  Halliwell  expended 
a  vast  amount  of  patient  research  and  antiquarian  lore  in 
hunting  up  and  setting  before  the  world  the  history  of 
these  performances,  from  "  Hey  diddle  diddle"  to 

"  A  farmer  went  trotting  upon  his  grey  mare— 
Bumpety,  bumpety,  bump  1" 

To  all  this  I  made  no  direct  reply ;  I  ventured,  how 
ever,  to  suggest  my  views  in  the  following  article  inserted 
in  Merry's  Museum  for  August,  1846. 


BETWEEN   TIMOTHY    AND    HIS   MOTHER. 

Timothy.  Mother !  mother !  do  stop  a  minute,  and 
hear  me  say  my  poetry ! 

Mother.  Your  poetry,  my  son  ?  Who  told  you  how 
to  make  poetry  ? 


242  PETER     PARLEY'S 

T.     Oh,  I  don't  know  ;  but  hear  what  I  have  made  up. 
M.     Well,  go  on. 

T.  Now  don't  you  laugh  ;  it's  all  mine.  I  didn't  get 
a  bit  of  it  out  of  a  book.  Here  it  is  ! 

"Higglety,  pigglety,  pop  I 
The  dog  has  eat  the  mop ; 

The  pig's  in  a  hurry, 

The  cat's  in  a  flurry — 
Higglety,  pigglety— pop !" 

M.     Well,  go  on. 

T.     Why,  that's  all.    Don't  you  think  it  pretty  good  ? 

M.     Really,  my  son,  I  don't  see  much  sense  in  it. 

T.  Sense  ?  Who  ever  thought  of  sense,  in  poetry  ? 
Why,  mother,  you  gave  me  a  book  the  other  day,  and  it 
was  all  poetry,  and  I  don't  think  there  was  a  bit  of  sense 
in  the  whole  of  it.  Hear  me  read.  [Reads^\ 

"Hub  a  dub! 

Three  men  in  a  tub — 
And  how  do  you  think  they  got  there  ? 

The  butcher, 

The  baker, 

The  candlestick  maker, 
They  all  jumped  out  of  a  rotten  potato  : 
'Twas  enough  to  make  a  man  stare." 

And  here's  another. 

"  A  cat  came  fiddling  out  of  a  barn, 
With  a  pair  of  bagpipes  under  her  arm ; 
She  could  sing  nothing  but  fiddle  cum  fee— 
The  mouse  has  married  the  humblebee — 
Pipe,  cat — dance,  mouse — 
We'll  have  a  wedding  at  our  good  house!" 


.        OWN     STORY.  243 

And  here's  another. 

"Hey,  diddle,  diddle, 

The  cat  and  the  fiddle, 
The  cow  jumped  over  the  moon — 
I  The  little  dog  laughed 

To  see  the  craft, 
And  the  dish  ran  after  the  spoon." 

Now,  mother,  the  book  is  full  of  such  things  as  these, 
and  I  don't  see  any  meaning  in  them. 

M.  Well,  my  son,  I  think  as  you  do  ;  they  are  really 
very  absurd. 

T.  Absurd  ?  Why,  then,  do  you  give  me  such  things 
to  read  ? 

M.  Let  me  ask  you  a  question.  Do  you  not  love  to 
read  these  rhymes,  even  though  they  are  silly  ? 

T.     Yes,  dearly. 

M.  Well,  you  have  just  learned  to  read,  and  I 
thought  these  jingles,  silly  as  they  are,  might  induce  you 
to  study  your  book,  and  make  you  familiar  with  reading. 

T.    I  don't  understand  you,  mother ;  but  no  matter. 

"  Higglety,  pigglety,  pop ! 
The  dog  has  eat  the  mop ; 
The  pig's  in  a  hurry — " 

M.  Stop,  stop,  my  son.  I  choose  you  should  under, 
stand  me. 

T.  But,  mother,  what's  the  use  of  understanding  you  ? 

"Higglety,  pigglety,  pop!" 

M.  Timothy! 

T.  Ma'am? 

M.  Listen  to  me,  or  you  will  have  cause  to  repent  it. 


244  PETER     PARLEY'S 

Listen  to  what  I  say  ?  I  gave  you  the  book  to  amuse 
you,  and  improve  you  in  reading,  not  to  form  your  taste 
.'n  poetry. 

T.  Well,  mother,  pray  forgive  me. '  I  did  not  mean 
to  offend  you.  But  I  really  do  love  poetry,  because  it  is 
so  silly ! 

"  Higglety,  pigglety,  pop  1" 

M.  Don't  say  that  again,  Timothy  ! 
T.  Well,  I  won't ;  but  I'll  say  something  out  of  this 
pretty  book  you  gave  me. 

"Doodledy,  doodledy,  dan! 
I'll  have  a  piper  to  be  my  good  man — 
And  if  I  get  less  meat,  I  shall  get  game— 
Doodledy,  doodledy,  danl" 

M.  That's  enough,  my  son. 

T.  But,  dear  mother,  do  hear  me  read  another. 

"  We're  all  in  the  dumps, 

For  diamonds  are  trumps — 
The  kittens  are  gone  to  St  Paul's — 

The  babies  are  bit, 

The  moon's  in  a  fit — 
And  the  houses  are  built  without  walls." 

M.  I  do  not  wish  to  hear  any  more. 
T.  One  more  ;  one  more,  dear  mother ! 

"  Round  about — round  about — 

Maggoty  pie — 
My  father  loves  good  ale, 
And  so  do  I." 

Don't  you  like  that,  mother  ? 

M.  No ;  it  is  too  coarse,  and  unfit  to  be  read  or  spoken. 


OWN     STORY.  245 

T.  But  it  is  here  in  this  pretty  book  you  gave  me,  and 
I  like  it  very  much,  mother.  And  here  is  a  poem, 
which  I  think  very  fine. 

"One-eiy,  two-ery, 
Ziccary  zan, 

Hollow  bone,  crack  a  bone— 
Ninery  ten : 
Spittery  spat, 
It  must  be  done, 
Twiddledum,  twiddledum, 
Twenty-one, 
Hink,  spink,  the  puddings — " 

M.  Stop,  stop,  my  son.  Are  you  not  ashamed  to  say 
such  things  ? 

T.  Ashamed  ?  No,  mother.  Why  should  I  be  ?  It's 
all  printed  here  as  plain  as  day.  Ought  I  to  be  ashamed 
to  say  any  thing  that  I  find  in  a  pretty  book  you  have 
given  me  ?  Just  hear  the  rest  of  this. 

•'  Hink,  spink,  the  puddings — " 

M.  Give  me  the  book,  Timothy.  I  see  that  I  have 
made  a  mistake  ;  it  is  not  a  proper  book  for  you. 

T.  Well,  you  may  take  the  book ;  but  I  can  say  the 
rhymes,  for  I  have  learned  them  all  by  heart. 

"  TTink-,  spink,  the  puddings—" 

M.  Timothy,  how  dare  you ! 

T.  Well,  mother,  I  won't  say  it,  if  you  don't  wish  me 
to.  But  mayn't  I  say — 

"Higglety,  pigglety,  pop  I" 
M.  I  had  rather  you  would  not. 


246  PETER     PARLEY'S 

T.  And  "Doodledy,  doodledy,  dan" — mayn't  I  say 
that? 

M.  No. 

T.  Nor  "Hey,  diddle,  diddle?" 

M.  I  do  not  wish  you  to  say  any  of  those  silly  things. 
.  T.  Dear  me,  what  shall  I  do  ? 

M.  I  had  rather  you  would  learn  some  good,  sensible 
things. 

T.  Such  as  what  ? 

M.  Watts's  Hymns,  and  Original  Hymns. 

T.  Do  you  call  them  sensible  things  ?     I  hate  'em. 

"Doodledy,  doodledy,  danl" 

M.  [Aside.]  Dear,  dear,  what  shall  I  do  ?  The  boy 
has  got  his  head  turned  with  these  silly  rhymes.  It  was 
really  a  very  unwise  thing  to  put  a  book  into  his  hands, 
so  full  of  nonsense  and  vulgarity.  These  foolish  rhymes 
stick  like  burs  in  his  mind,  and  the  coarsest  and  vilest 
seem  to  be  best  remembered.  I  must  remedy  this  mis 
take  ;  but  I  see  it  will  take  all  my  wit  to  do  it.  [Aloud.'] 
Timothy,  you  must  give  me  up  this  book,  and  I  will  get 
you  another. 

T.  Well,  mother,  I  am  sorry  to  part  with  it ;  but  I 
don't  care  so  much  about  it,  as  I  know  all  the  best  of  it 
by  heart. 

"  Hink,  spink,  the  puddings  stink  " — 

M.  Timothy,  you'll  have  a  box  on  the  ear,  if  you 
repeat  that! 

T.  Well,  I  suppose  I  can  say, 

"  Bound  about — round  about- 
Maggoty  pie — " 


OWN     STOKT.  247 

M.  You  go  to  bed  ! 

T.  Well,  if  I  must,  I  must.     Good-night,  mother  I 

"Higglety,  pigglety,  popl 
The  dog  has  eat  the  mop ; 
The  cat's  in  a  flurry, 
The  cow's  in  a  hurry, 
Higglety,  pigglety,  pop  I" 

Good-night,  mother! 

I  trust,  that  no  one  will  gather  from  this  that  I  con 
demn  rhymes  for  children.  I  know  that  there  is  a  certain 
music  in  them  that  delights  the  ear  of  childhood.  Nor 
am  I  insensible  to  the  fact  that  in  Mother  Goose's 
Melodies,  there  is  frequently  a  sort  of  humor  in  the  odd 
jingle  of  sound  and  sense.  There  is,  furthermore,  in 
many  of  them,  an  historical  significance,  which  may 
please  the  profound  student  who  puzzles  it  out;  but  what 
I  affirm  is,  that  many  of  these  pieces  are  coarse,  vulgar, 
offensive,  and  it  is  precisely  these  portions  that  are  apt  to 
stick  to  the  minds  of  children.  And  besides,  if,  as  is 
common,  such  a  book  is  the  first  that  a  child  becomes 
acquainted  with,  it  is  likely  to  give  him  a  low  idea  of  the 
purpose  and  meaning  of  books,  and  to  beget  a  taste  for 
mere  jingles. 

With  these  views,  I  sought  to  prepare  lessons  which 
combined  the  various  elements  suited  to  children — a  few 
of  them  even  including  frequent,  repetitious  rhymes — 
yet  at  the  same  time  presenting  rational  ideas  and  gentle 
kindly  sentiments.  Will  you  excuse  me  for  giving  you 
one  example — my  design  being  to  show  you  how  this 
may  be  done,  and  how  even  a  veiy  unpromising  subject 
is  capable  of  being  thus  made  attractive  to  children. 


248  PETER     PARLEY'S 

THE  TOAD'S   STORY. 

Oh,  gentle  stranger,  stop, 
And  hear  poor  little  Hop 
Just  sing  a  simple  song, 
Which  is  not  very  long — 
Hip,  hip,  hop. 

I  am  an  honest  toad, 
Living  here  by  the  road ; 
Beneath  a  stone  I  dwell, 
In  a  snug  little  cell, 
Hip,  hip,  hop. 

It  may  seem  a  sad  lot 
To  live  in  such  a  spot — 
But  what  I  say  is  true — 
I  have  fun  as  well  as  you ! 
Hip,  hip,  hop. 

Just  listen  to  my  song — • 
I  sleep  all  winter  long, 
But  in  spring  I  peep  out, 
And  then  I  jump  about — 
Hip,  hip,  hop. 

When  the  rain  patters  down, 
I  let  it  wash  my  crown, 
And  now  and  then  I  sip 
A  drop  with  my  lip : 
Hip,  hip,  hop. 

When  the  bright  sun  is  set, 
And  th«  grass  with  dew  is  wet, 
I  sally  from  my  cot, 
To  see  what's  to  be  got, 
Hip,  hip,  hop. 

And  now  I  wink  my  eye, 
And  now  I  catch  a  fly, 


OWN      STORY.  249 

And  now  I  take  a  peep, 
And  now  and  then  I  sleep : 
Hip,  hip,  hop. 

And  this  is  all  I  do— 
And  yet  they  say  it's  true, 
That  the  toady's  face  is  sad, 
And  his  bite  is  very  bad  1 
Hip,  hip,  hop. 

Oh,  naughty  folks  they  be, 
That  tell  such  tales  of  me, 
For  I'm  an  honest  toad, 
Just  li ving  by  the  road : 
Hip,  hip,  hop ! 

These  were  my  ideas  in  regard  to  first  books — toy- 
books — those  which  are  put  into  the  hands  of  children  to 
teach  them  the  art  of  reading.  As  to  books  of  amuse 
ment  and  instruction,  to  follow  these,  I  gave  them  Par 
ley's  tales  of  travels,  of  history,  of  nature  and  art,  to 
gether  with  works  designed  to  cultivate  a  love  of  truth, 
charity,  piety,  and  virtue,  and  I  sought  to  make  these  so 
attractive  as  to  displace  the  bad  books  to  which  I  have 
already  alluded — the  old  monstrosities,  Puss  in  Boots, 
Jack  the  Giant-killer,  and  others  of  that  class.  A  prin 
cipal  part  of  my  machinery  was  the  character  of  Peter 
Parley — a  kind-hearted  old  man,  who  had  -seen  much  of 
the  world,  and,  not  presuming  to  undertake  to  instruct 
older  people,  loved  to  sit  down  and  tell  his  stories  to 
children.  Beyond  these  juvenile  works,  I  prepared  a 
graduated  series  upon  the  same  general  plan,  reaching  up 
to  books  for  the  adult  library. 

It  is  true  that  occasionally  I  wrote  and  published  a 
book  aside  from  this,  my  true  vocation :  thus  I  edited 
the  Token,  and  published  two  or  three  volumes  of  poetry. 


250         PETKR     PARLEY    8     OWN      STORT. 

But,  out  of  all  my  works,  about  a  hundred  and  twenty 
are  professedly  juvenile ;  and  forty  are  for  my  early 
readers  advanced  to  maturity.  It  is  true  that  I  have 
written  openly,  avowedly,  to  attract  and  to  please  chil 
dren  ;  yet  it  has  been  my  design  at  the  same  time  to  en 
large  the  circle  of  knowledge,  to  invigorate  the  under 
standing,  to  strengthen  the  moral  nerve,  to  purify  and 
exalt  the  imagination.  Such  have  been  my  aims :  how 
far  I  have  succeeded,  I  must  leave  to  the  judgment  of 
others.  One  thing  I  may  perhaps  claim,  and  that  is,  my 
example  and  my  success  have  led  others,  of  higher  gifts 
than  my  own,  to  enter  the  ample  and  noble  field  of  juve 
nile  instruction  by  means  of  books ;  many  of  them  have 
no  doubt  surpassed  me,  and  others  will  still  follow  sur 
passing  them.  I  look  upon  the  art  of  writing  for  chil 
dren  and  youth,  advanced  as  it  has  been  of  late  years, 
still  as  but  just  begun. 


CHAPTER    XXYI. 

CHILDREN    MY    FIB8T    PATRONS  —  A    VISIT    TO    NEW   ORLEANS — FEELINGS    O» 
HUMILIATION— THE  MICE  EAT    MY  PAPEBS — A  WEONG   CALCULATION. 

IF  thus  I  met  with  opposition,  I  had  also  my  success, 
nay,  I  must  say,  my  triumphs.  My  first  patrons  were 
the  children  themselves,  then  the  mothers,  and  then,  of 
course,  the  fathers.  In  the  early  part  of  the  year  1846 
I  made  a  trip  from  Boston  to  the  South,  returning  by  the 
way  of  the  Mississippi  and  the  Ohio.  I  received  many  a 
kind  welcome  under  the  name  of  the  fictitious  hero  whom 
I  had  made  to  tell  my  stories.  Sometimes,  it  is  true,  I 
underwent  rather  sharp  cross-questioning,  and  frequently 
was  made  to  feel  that  I  held  my  honors  by  a  rather 
questionable  title.  •  I,  who  had  undertaken  to  teach 
truth,  was  forced  to  confess  that  fiction  lay  at  the  founda 
tion  of  my  scheme !  My  innocent  young  readers,  how 
ever,  did  not  suspect  me :  they  had  taken  all  I  had  said 
as  positively  true,  and  I  was,  of  course,  Peter  Parley 
himself. 

"  Did  you  really  write  that  book  about  Africa  ?"  said 
a  black-eyed,  dark-haired  girl  of  some  eight  years  old,  at 
Mobile. 

I  replied  in  the  affirmative. 

"  And  did  you  really  get  into  prison  there  ?" 

"  No ;  I  was  never  in  Africa." 

"  Never  in  Africa  ?" 


252  PETER     PARLET    S 

"Never." 

"Well,  then,  why  did  you  say  you  had  been  there  F* 

On  another  occasion — I  think  at  Savannah — a  gentle 
man  called  upon  me,  introducing  his  two  grandchildren, 
who  were  anxious  to  see  Peter  Parley.  The  girl  rushed 
up  to  me,  and  kissed  me  at  once.  "We  were  immediately 
the  best  friends  in  the  world.  The  boy,  on  the  contrary, 
held  himself  aloof,  and  ran  his  eye  over  me,  up  and 
down,  from  top  to  toe.  He  then  walked  round,  survey 
ing  me  with  the  most  scrutinizing  gaze.  After  this  he 
sat  down,  and  during  the  interview  took  no  further  notice 
of  me.  At  parting  he  gave  me  a  keen  look,  but  said 
nothing.  The  next  day  the  gentleman  called  and  told 
me  that  his  grandson,  as  they  were  on  their  way  home, 
said  to  him, — 

"  Grandfather,  I  wouldn't  have  anything  to  do  with 
that  man  ;  he  ain't  Peter  Parley." 

"  How  do  you  know  that  ?"  said  the  grandfather. 

"  Because,"  said  the  boy,  "he  hasn't  got  his  foot  bound 
up,  and  he  don't  walk  with  a  crutch !" 

On  my  arrival  at  New  Orleans  I  was  kindly  received, 
and  had  the  honors  of  a  public  welcome.  The  proceed 
ings  were  gratifying  to  me ;  and,  even  if  they  stood 
alone,  would  make  amends  for  much  misunderstanding 
and  opposition. 

Hitherto  I  have  spoken  chiefly  of  the  books  I  have 
written  for  children,  the  design  of  which  was  as  much  to 
amuse  as  to  instruct  them.  These  comprise  the  en 
tire  series  called  Parley's  Tales,  with  many  others,  bear 
ing  Parley's  name.  As  to  works  for  education — school- 
books,  including  readers,  histories,  geographies,  <fec., 
books  for  popular  reading,  and  a  wilderness  of  prose  and 
poetry  admitting  of  no  classification — it  is  unnecessary 


OWN      STORY.  253 

to  recount  them.  This  is  the  closing  chapter  of  my 
literary  history,  and  I  have  little  indeed  to  say,  and  that 
is  a  confession. 

In  looking  at  the  long  list  of  my  publications,  in  re 
flecting  upon  the  large  numbers  that  have  been  sold,  I 
feel  far  more  of  humiliation  than  of  triumph.  If  I  have 
sometimes  taken  to  heart  the  soothing  flatteries  of  the 
public,  it  has  ever  been  speedily  succeeded  by  the  con 
viction  that  my  life  has  been,  on  the  whole,  a  series  of 
mistakes,  and  especially  in  that  portion  of  it  which  has 
been  devoted  to  authorship.  I  have  written  too  much, 
and  have  done  nothing  really  well.  I  know,  better  than 
any  one  can  tell  me,  that  there  is  nothing  in  this  long 
catalogue  that  will  give  me  a  permanent  place  in  litera 
ture.  A  few  things  may  struggle  upon  the  surface  for  a 
time,  but — like  the  last  leaves  of  a  tree  in  autumn,  forced 
at  length  to  quit  their  hold  and  drop  into  the  stream — 
even  these  will  disappear,  and  my  name  and  all  I  have 
done  will  be  forgotten. 

A  recent  event,  half-ltfdicrous  and  half-melancholy,  has 
led  me  into  this  train  of  reflection.  On  going  to  Europe 
in  1851  I  sent  my  books  and  papers  to  a  friend,  to  be 
kept  till  my  return.  Among  them  was  a  large  box  of 
business  documents — letters,  accounts,  receipts,  bills  paid, 
notes  liquidated — comprising  the  transactions  of  several 
years,  long  since  passed  away.  Shortly  after  my  return 
to  New  York,  in  preparing  to  establish  myself  and  • 
family,  I  caused  these  things  to  be  sent  to  me.  On  open 
ing  the  particular  box  just  mentioned,  I  found  it  a  com 
plete  mass  of  shavings,  shreds,  fragments.  My  friend 
had  put  it  carefully  away  in  the  upper  loft  of  his  barn, 
and  there  it  became  converted  into  a  universal  mouse- 
nest  !  The  history  of  whole  generations  of  the 


254  PETER      FARLEY'S 

chievous  little  rogues  was  still  visible ;  beds,  galleries, 
play-grounds,  birth-places,  and  even  graves,  were  in  a 
state  of  excellent  preservation.  Several  wasted  and 
shrivelled  forms  of  various  sizes — the  limbs  curled  up,  the 
eyes  extinct,  the  teeth  disclosed,  the  long,  slender  tails 
straight  and  stiffened — testified  t6  the  joys  and  sorrows  of 
the  races  that  had  flourished  there. 

On  exploring  this  mass  of  ruins,  I  discovered  here  and 
there  a  file  of  letters  eaten  through,  the  hollow  cavity 
evidently  having  been  the  happy  and  innocent  cradle  of 
childhood  to  these  destroyers.  Sometimes  I  found  a  bed 
lined  with  paid  bills,  and  sometimes  the  pathway  of  a 
gallery  paved  with  liquidated  accounts.  What  a  mass  of 
thoughts,  of  feelings,  cares,  anxieties,  were  thus  made  the 
plunder  of  these  thoughtless  creatures !  In  examining 
the  papers  I  found,  for  instance,  letters  from  N.  P. 
Willis,  written  five-and-twenty  years  ago,  with  only 
"  Dear  Sir"  at  the  beginning,  and  "  Yours  truly  "  at  the 
end.  I  found  epistles  of  nearly  equal  antiquity  from 
many  other  friends — sometimes  only  the  heart  eaten  out, 
and  sometimes  the  whole  body  gone. 

For  all  purposes  of  record,  these  papers  were  destroyed. 
I  was  alone,  for  my  family  had  not  yet  returned  from 
Europe :  it  was  the  beginning  of  November,  and  I  began 
to  light  my  fire  with  these  relics.  For  two  whole  days  I 
pored  over  them,  buried  in  the  reflections  which  the  read 
ing  of  the  fragments  suggested.  Absorbed  in  this  dreary 
occupation,  I  forgot  the  world  without,  and  was  only  con 
scious  of  bygone  scenes  which  came  up  in  review  before 
me.  It  was  as  if  I  had  been  in  the  tomb,  and  was 
reckoning  with  the  past.  How  little  was  there  in  all  that 
I  was  thus  called  to  remember,  save  of  care,  and  strug 
gle,  and  anxiety  j  and  how  were  all  the  thoughts,  and 


OWN      BTORT.  255 

feelings,  and  experiences,  which  seemed  mountains  in 
their  day,  levelled  down  to  the  merest  grains  of  dust !  A 
note  of  hand — perchance  of  a  thousand  dollars — what  a 
history  rose  up  in  recollection  as  I  looked  over  its 
scarcely  legible  fragments ! — what  clouds  of  anxiety  had 
its  approaching  day  of  maturity  cast  over  my  mind! 
How  had  I  been,  with  a  trembling  heart,  to  some  bank- 
president — he  a  god,  and  I  a  craven  worshipper — making 
my  offering  of  some  other  note  for  a  discount,  which 
might  deliver  me  from  the  wrath  to  come  !  With  what 
anxiety  have  I  watched  the  lips  of  the  oracle,  for  my 
fate  was  in  his  hands  !  A  simple  monosyllable — yes  or 
no — might  save  or  ruin  me.  What  a  history  was  in  that 
bit  of  paper  ! — and  yet  it  was  destined  only  to  serve  as 
stuffing  for  the  beds  of  vermin. 

I  ought,  no  doubt,  to  have  smiled  at  all  this ;  but  I 
confess  it  made  me  serious.  Nor  was  it  the  most  humiliat 
ing  part  of  my  reflections.  I  have  been  too  familiar  with 
care,  conflict,  disappointment,  to  mourn  over  them  very 
deeply,  now  that  they  were  passed.  The  seeming  fatuity 
of  such  a  mass  of  labors  as  these  papers  indicated,  com 
pared  with  their  poor  results,  however  it  might  humble, 
could  not  distress  me.  But  there  were  many  things 
suggested  by  these  letters,  all  in  rags  as  they  were,  that 
caused  positive  humiliation.  They  revived  in  my  mind 
the  vexations,  misunderstandings,  controversies  of  other 
days ;  and  now,  reviewed  in  the  calm  light  of  time,  I 
could  discover  the  mistakes  of  judgment,  of  temper,  of 
policy,  that  I  had  made.  I  turned  back  to  my  letter- 
book  ;  I  reviewed  my  correspondence  ;  and  I  came  to 
the  conclusion  that  in  almost  every  difficulty  which  had 
arisen  in  my  path,  even  if  others  were  wrong,  I  was  not 
altogether  right :  in  most  cases,  prudence,  conciliation, 


256       PETEK    PARLEY'S    OWN    STORY. 

condescension,  might  have  averted  these  evils.  Thus  the 
thorns  which  had  wounded  me  and  others  too,  as  it 
seemed,  had  generally  sprung  up  from  the  seeds  I  had 
sown,  or  had  thriven  upon  the  culture  my  own  hands  had 
unwisely  bestowed. 

At  first  I  felt  disturbed  at  the  ruin  which  had  been 
wrought  in  these  files  of  papers.  Hesitating  and  doubt 
ful,  I  consigned  them  one  by  one  to  the  flames.  At  last 
the  work  was  complete ;  all  had  perished,  and  the 
feathery  ashes  had  leaped  up  in  the  strong  draught  of  the 
chimney  and  disappeared  for  ever.  I  felt  a  relief  at  last ; 
I  smiled  at  what  had  happened ;  I  warmed  my  chill  fin 
gers  over  the  embers ;  I  felt  that  a  load  was  off  my 
shoulders.  "  At  least,"  said  I  in  my  heart,  "  these  things 
are  now  passed  ;  my  reckoning  is  completed,  the  account 
is  balanced,  the  responsibilities  of  those  bygone  days  are 
liquidated ;  let  me  burden  my  bosom  with  them  no 
more !"  Alas,  how  fallacious  my  calculation !  A  few 
months  only  had  passed,  when  I  was  called  to  contend 
with  a  formidable  claim  which  came  up  from  the  midst 
of  transactions  to  which  these  extinct  papers  referred, 
and  against  which  they  constituted  my  defence.  As  it 
chanced,  I  was  able  to  meet  and  repel  it  by  documents 
which  survived  ;  but  the  event  caused  me  deep  reflection. 
I  could  not  but  remark  that,  however  we  may  seek  to 
cover  our  lives  with  forgetfulness,  their  records  still  exist, 
and  these  may  come  up  against  us  when  we  have  no 
vouchers  to  meet  the  charges  which  are  thus  presented. 
Who,  then,  will  be  our  helper  ? 


CHAPTER    XXVII. 

KAKE  A.  SPEECH— LECTURE  ON  IRELAND — POLITICS — PERSONAL  ATTACKS — 
BECOME  A  SENATOR— THB  "FIFTEEN-GALLON"  LAW— A  PAMPHLET  IN  ITS 
FAVOE — "MY  NEIGHBOR  SMITH" — A  POLITICAL  CAREER  UNPROFITABLE. 

THE  first  public  speech  I  ever  made  was  at  St.  Albans, 
in  England,  in  the  year  1832,  at  a  grand  celebration  of 
the  passing  of  the  Reform  Bill ;  having  accompanied 
thither  Sir  Francis  Vincent,  the  representative  in  Parlia 
ment  of  that  ancient  borough.  More  than  three  thou 
sand  people,  men,  women,  and  children,  gathered  from  the 
town  and  the  vicinity,  were  feasted  at  a  long  table,  set 
out  in  the  principal  street  of  the  place.  After  this  feast 
there  were  various  sports,  such  as  donkey-races,  climbing 
a  greased  pole,  and  the  like.  At  six  o'clock,  about  one 
hundred  and  fifty  of  the  gentry  and  leading  tradesmen 
and  mechanics  sat  down  to  a  dinner,  Sir  Francis  presid 
ing.  The  President  of  the  United  States  was  toasted, 
and  I  was  called  upon  to  respond.  Entirely  taken  by 
surprise,  for  not  a  word  had  been  said  to  me  upon  the 
subject,  I  made  a  speech.  I  could  never  recall  what  I 
said  :  all  I  remember  is  a  whirl  of  thoughts  and  emotions 
as  I  rose,  occasional  cries  of  "  Hear,  hear  !"  as  I  went  on, 
and  a  generous  clapping  of  hands  as  I  concluded. 


258  PETER     PARLEY'S 

Whether  this  last  was  because  I  really  made  a  good  hit, 
or  from  another  principle — 

"  The  best  of  Graham's  speeches  was  his  last"— 

I  am  totally  unable  to  say. 

My  next  public  appearance  was  in  a  lecture  at  the  Tre- 
mont  Temple,  in  Boston  ;  my  subject  being  "  Ireland  and 
the  Irish."  Although  my  discourse  was  written,  and 
pretty  well  committed  to  memory,  yet  for  several  daya 
before  the  time  appointed  for  its  delivery  arrived,  when  I 
thought  of  my  engagement,  my  heart  failed  me.  When 
the  hour  came  I  went  to  the  door  of  the  room,  but  on 
seeing  the  throng  of  persons  collected  I  felt  that  my 
senses  were  deserting  me :  turning  on  my  heel,  I  went 
out,  and  going  to  an  apothecary's,  fortified  myself  with 
some  peppermint  lozenges.  When  I  got  back,  the  house 
was  waiting  with  impatience.  I  was  immediately  introduced 
to  the  audience  by  Dr.  Walter  Channing,  and  stepping 
upon  the  platform,  began.  After  the  first  sentence,  I 
was  perfectly  at  my  ease.  I  afterwards  delivered  this 
lecture  more  than  forty  times. 

In  the  autumn  of  1836  there  was  a  large  evening 

party  at  Jamaica  Plain,  at  the  house  of  Mrs.  G ,  the 

lady-patroness  of  the  village.  Among  the  notable  men 
present  was  Daniel  Webster,  whom  I  had  frequently  seen, 
but  to  whom  I  was  now  introduced  for  the  first  time.  He 
spoke  to  me  of  many  things,  and  at  last  of  politics,  sug 
gesting  that  the  impending  presidential  election  involved 
most  important  questions,  and  he  deemed  it  the  duty  of 
every  man  to  reflect  upon  the  subject,  and  to  exert  his 
influence  as  his  conscience  might  dictate. 

Since  my  residence  in  Massachusetts,  a  period  of  nearly 
eight  years,  I  had  been  engrossed  in  my  business,  and 


OWN     8TORT.  259 

had  never  even  voted.  Just  at  this  time  I  was  appointed, 
without  any  suggestion  of  my  own,  one  of  the  delegates 
to  the  Whig  Convention  to  nominate  a  person  to  repre 
sent  us,  the  Ninth  Congressional  District,  in  Congress. 
This  was  to  take  place  at  Medway,  at^the  upper  end  of 
the  district.  I  went  accordingly,  and  on  the  first  ballot 
was  the  highest  candidate,  save  one — Mr.  Hastings,  of 
Mendon.  I  declined,  of  course,  and  he  was  unanimously 
nominated. 

The  canvass  that  ensued  was  a  very  animated  one,  Mr. 
Van  Buren  being  the  democratic  candidate  for  the  presi 
dency.  He  was  considered  as  the  heir-apparent  of  the 
policy  of  Gen.  Jackson,  and  had,  indeed,  promised,  if 
elected,  to  walk  in  the  footsteps  of  his  illustrious  prede 
cessor.  Without  the  personal  popularity  of  that  remark 
able  man,  he  became  the  target  for  all  the  hostility  which 
his  measures  had  excited.  He  was,  however,  elected,  but 
to  be .  overwhelmed  with  a  whirlwind  of  discontent  and 
opposition  four  years  after. 

The  candidate  for  Congress  in  our  district,  in  opposi 
tion  to  Mr.  Hastings,  was  Alexander  H.  Everett,  who  had 
been  hitherto  a  conspicuous  Whig,  and  who  had  signal 
ized  himself  by  the  ability  and  bitterness  of  his  attacks  on 
General  Jackson  and  his  administration.  He  had  singled 
out  Mr.  Van  Buren  for  especial  vehemence  of  reproach, 
because,  being  Secretary  of  State  at  the  time,  Mr.  Ever 
ett  was  superseded  as  Minister  to  Spain  without  the  cus 
tomary  courtesy  of  an  official  note  advising  him  of  the 
appointment  of  his  successor.  To  the  amazement  of  the 
public  in  general,  and  his  friends  in  particular,  on  the  8th 
of  January,  1836,  Mr.  Everett  delivered  an  oration  be 
fore  the  democracy  of  Salem,  in  which — ignoring  the 
most  prominent  portion  of  his  political  life — he  came  out 


60  PETER     PARLEY'S 

vrith  the  warmest  eulogies  upon  General  Jackson  and  his 
administration  !  About  the  first  of  May,  the  precise 
period  when  it  was  necessary,  in  order  to  render  him 
eligible  to  Congress  in  the  Ninth  District,  he  took  up  his 
residence  within  its  precincts,  and,  as  was  easily  foreseen, 
was  the  democratic  candidate  for  Congress. 

The  Whig  District  Committee,  of  which  I  was  one, 
and  Charles  Bowen  (Mr.  Everett's  publisher),  another, 
issued  a  pamphlet,  collating  and  contrasting  Mr.  Everett's 
two  opinions  of  General  Jackson's  policy,  and  especially 
of  Mr.  Van  Buren — the  one  flatly  contradicting  the  other, 
and,  in  point  of  date,  being  but  two  or  three  years  apart. 
This  was  circulated  over  the  towns  of  the  district.  It 
was  a  terrible  document,  and  Mr.  Everett  felt  its  force. 
One  of  them  was  left  at  his  own  door  in  the  general  dis 
tribution.  This  he  took  as  a  personal  insult,  and  meet 
ing  Bowen,  knocked  him  over  the  head  with  his  um 
brella.  Bowen  clutched  him  by  the  throat,  and  would 
have  strangled  him  but  for  the  timely  interference  of  a 
bystander. 

I  had  been  among  Mr.  Everett's  personal  friends,  but 
he  now  made  me  the  object  of  special  attack.  In  a  paper, 
which  then  circulated  a  good  deal  in  the  district,  I  was 
severely  lashed  under  the  name  of  Peter  Parley,  not  be 
cause  I  was  a  candidate  for  office,  but  because  I  was 
chairman  of  the  Whig  District  Committee.  I  recollect 
that  one  day  some  rather  scandalous  thing  came  out 
against  me  in  the  editorial  columns  of  this  journal,  and 
feeling  very  indignant,  I  went  to  see  the  editor.  I  did 
not  know  him  personally,  but  from  occasionally  reading 
his  paper  I  had  got  the  idea  that  he  was  a  very  monster 
of  violence.  He  was  not  at  the  office,  but  such  was  my 
irritation  and  impatience  that  I  went  to  his  house.  I 


OWN     STORY.  261 

rang,  and  a  beautiful  black-eyed  girl,  some  eight  years 

old,  came  to  tbe  door.  I  asked  if  Mr.  H was  in  ? 

<;  Mother,"  said  the  child,  in  a  voice  of  silver,  "  is  father 
at  home  ?"  At  this  moment  another  child,  and  still 
younger,  its  bullet-pate  head  all  over  curls,  came  to  the 
door.  Then  a  mild  and  handsome  woman  came,  and  to 
my  inquiry  she  said  that  her  husband  was  out,  but  would 
return  in  a  few  moments. 

My  rage  was  quelled  in  an  instant.  "  So,"  said  I  to 
myself,  "  these  children  call  that  man  father,  and  this 
woman  calls  him  husband.  After  all,  he  cannot  be  such 
a  monster  as  I  have  fancied  him,  with  such  a  home."  I 
turned  on  my  heel  and  went  away,  my  ill-humor  having 
totally  subsided.  Some  two  years  after  I  told  him  this 
anecdote,  and  we  had  a  good-humored  laugh  over  it. 
Both  of  us  had  learned  to  discriminate  between  political 
controversy  and  personal  animosity. 

The  attacks  made  upon  me  during  this  canvass  had  an 
effect  different  from  what  was  intended.  I  was  compelled 
to  take  an  active  part  in  the  election,  and  deeming  the 
success  of  my  party  essential  to  my  own  defence,  I 
naturally  made  more  vigorous  efforts  for  that  object. 
Mr.  Everett  was  defeated  by  a  large  majority,  and  the 
Whig  candidate  triumphed.  At  the  same  time  I  was 
chosen  a  member  of  the  legislature  for  Roxbury— 
Jamaica  Plain,  where  I  resided,  being  a  parish  of  that 
town.  The  next  year  I  was  a  candidate  for  the  Senate, 
in  competition  with  Mr.  Everett,  and  was  elected.  In 
this  manner  I  was  forced  into  politics,  and  was  indebted 
mainly  to  opposition  for  my  success. 

During  the  ensuing  session  of  the  legislature,  the 
winter  of  1837-8,  the  famous  "  Fifteen-Gallon  Law"  was 
passed — that  is,  a  law  prohibiting  the  sale  of  intoxicating 


262  PETER     PARLEY'S 

liquors  in  less  quantities  than  fifteen  gallons.  The 
county  I  represented  was  largely  in  favor  of  the  measure, 
and  I  voted  for  it,  though  I  was  by  no  means  insensible 
to  the  agitation  it  was  certain  to  produce.  I  had  de 
termined  not  to  be  a  candidate  for  re-election,  and  there 
fore  considered  myself  free  to  engage  in  the  discussion 
which  preceded  the  next  election,  and  whicb,  of  course, 
mainly  turned  upon  this  law.  Among  other  things,  I 
wrote  a  little  pamphlet,  entitled  Five  Letters  to  my 
Neighbor  Smith,  touching  the  Fifteen-Gallon  Jug,  the 
main  design  of  which  was  to  persuade  the  people  of 
Massachusetts  to  make  the  experiment,  and  see  whether 
such  a  restraint  upon  the  sale  of  intoxicating  drinks 
would  not  be  beneficial.  This  was  published  anony 
mously,  and  my  intention  was  to  have  the  authorship  re 
main  unknown.  It,  however,  had  an  enormous  sale — a 
hundred  thousand  copies — in  the  course  of  a  few  months, 
and  curiosity  soon  found  me  out. 

Now  in  the  village  of  Jamaica  Plain  I  had  a  neighbor, 
though  not  by  the  name  of  Smith — a  rich  liquor-dealer, 
who  did  his  business  in  Boston — a  very  respectable  man, 
but  a  vehement  opposer  of  the  "Fifteen-Gallon  Law." 
As  the  election  approached,  the  citizens  of  the  state  were 
drawn  out  in  two  parties — those  in  favor  of  prohibition 
on  the  one  side,  and  the  men  in  favor  of  free  liquor  on 
the  other.  My  neighbor  was  the  wealthiest,  the  most 
respectable,  and  the  most  influential  of  the  latter.  He- 
insisted,  that  by  "  My  Neighbor  Smith  "  I  meant  hint; 
and  though  I  had  said  nothing  disagreeable  of  that  per 
sonage,  but  on  the  contrary,  had  drawn  his  portrait  in 
very  amiable  colors,  he  held  that  it  was  a  malicious 
personal  attack.  In  vain  did  I  deny  the  charge,  and 
point  to  the  fact  that  the  residence,  character,  and  quali- 


OWN      STORY.  263 

ties  of  my  fictitious  hero  were  inapplicable  to  him. 
Anxious  to  be  persecuted,  he  insisted  upon  it  that  he  was 
persecuted. 

At  the  county  convention,  which  took  place  some  two 
months  prior  to  this  election,  I  declined  being  a  candi 
date.  The  members  present,  however,  clearly  discerning 
the  gathering  storm,  refused  to  release  me,  and  I  was 
forced  to  accept  the  nomination.  The  election  was  to 
take  place  on  Monday,  in  November.  On  the  Saturday 
previous  there  was  issued  in  Boston  a  pamphlet,  entitled 
the  Cracked  Jug,  a  personal  and  political  attack  upon 
me,  written  with  great  malice  and  some  ability.  It  was 
scattered,  like  snow-flakes,  all  over  the  country ;  and 
was,  I  suspect,  the  Sunday  reading  of  all  the  tipplers  and 
taverners  of  the  country.  The  bar-room  critics  esteemed 
it  superior  to  anything  which  had  appeared  since  the 
Letters  of  Junius,  and,  of  course,  considered  me  annihi 
lated. 

On  Monday,  election-day,  ray  family  were  insulted  in 
the  streets  of  Jamaica  Plain,  and  as  I  went  into  the  Town 
Hall  to  cast  my  vote  I  heard  abundance  of  gibes  cast  at 
me  from  beneath  lowering  beavers.  The  result  was,  that 
there  was  no  choice  of  senators  in  the  county.  The 
election,  when  the  people  had  thus  failed  to  fill  theii 
places,  fell  upon  the  legislature,  and  I  was  chosen.  The 
storm  gradually  passed  away.  The  "  Fifteen-Gallon 
Law  "  was  repealed,  but  it  nearly  overturned  the  Whig 
party  in  the  state,  which,  being  in  the  majority,  was 
made  responsible  for  it.  I  deemed  it  necessary  to  reply 
to  my  Neighbor  Smith's  Cracked  Jug,  and  he  rejoined. 
What  seemed  at  the  time  a  deadly  personal  struggle, 
was,  ere  long,  forgotten ;  neither  party,  I  believe,  carry, 
ing,  in  his  character  or  his  feelings,  any  of  the  scars 


264  PETER     PARLEY'S 

inflicted  during  the  battle.  Both,  had,  in  some  sort,  tri 
umphed  ;  both,  in  some  sort,  been  beaten ;  both  could, 
therefore,  afford  to  return  to  the  amicable  relations  of 
village  neighborhood. . 

In  the  autumn  of  1840  the  Whigs  nominated  William 
Henry  Harrison  as  the  candidate  for  the  presidency,  in 
opposition  to  Mr.  Van  Buren.  He  had  held  various  civil 
and  military  trusts,  in  which  he  had  displayed  courage, 
wisdom,  and  patriotism.  His  personal  character  was 
eminently  winning  to  the  people,  being  marked  with 
benevolence  and  simplicity.  He  had  long  retired  from 
public  life,  and  for  several  years  had  lived  as  a  farmer  on 
the  "  North  Bend  "  of  the  Ohio,  near  Cincinnati.  The 
Democrats  ridiculed  him  as  drinking  hard  cider  and 
living  in  a  log  cabin.  The  masses,  resenting  this  as 
coming  from  those  who,  having  the  Government  spoils, 
were  rioting  in  the  White  House  on  champagne,  took 
these  gibes,  and  displayed  them  as  their  mottoes  and 
symbols  upon  their  banners.  They  gathered  in  barns,  as 
was  meet  for  the  friends  of  the  farmer  of  North  Bend, 
using  songs  and  speeches  as  flails,  threshing  his  enemies 
with  a  will.  The  spirit  spread  over  mountain  and  valley, 
and  in  every  part  of  the  country  men  were  seen  leaving 
their  customary  employments  to  assemble  in  multitudi 
nous  conventions.  Many  of  these  gatherings  numbered 
twenty  thousand  persons. 

During  this  animated  canvass  I  was  not  a  candidate  for 
office,  yet  I  took  part  in  the  great  movement,  and  made 
about  a  hundred  speeches  in  Massachusetts  and  Connec 
ticut.  Everybody,  then,  could  make  a  speech,  and 
everybody  could  sing  a  song.  Orators  sprang  up  like 
mushroons,  and  the  gift  of  tongues  was  not  more  uni 
versal  than  the  gift  of  music. 


OWN     STORY.  265 

From  this  period  I  have  taken  no  active  part  in  politics. 
In  reviewing  the  past,  while  duly  appreciating  the  honor 
conferred  by  the  confidence  bestowed  upon  me  by  the 
citizens  who  gave  me  their  suffrages,  I  still  regard  my 
political  career  as  an  unprofitable,  nay,  an  unhappy 
episode,  alien  to  my  literary  position  and  pursuits,  and 
every  way  injurious  to  my  interests  and  my  .peace  of 
mind.  It  gave  me  painful  glimpses  into  the  littleness,  the 
selfishness,  the  utter  quackery  of  a  large  portion  of  those 
politicians  who  lead,  or  seem  to  lead,  the  van  of  parties ; 
and  who,  pretending  to  be  guided  by  patriotism,  are 
usually  only  using  principles  and  platforms  as  means  to 
carry  them  into  office.  As  some  compensation  for  this, 
it  has  also  led  me  to  a  conviction  that  the  great  mass  of 
the  people  are  governed  by  patriotic  motives,  though  even 
with  these  I  have  often  noted  curious  instances  in  which 
the  public  interests  were  forgotten  in  a  desire  to  achieve 
some  selfish  end. 


CHAPTER    XXVIII. 

AN  APPOINTED  T.  8.  CONSUL  TO  PAKI8 — LOUIS  XVIII. — A  TEW  JOTTINGS  ITPOK 
FRENCH  NOTABILITIES — CUBE  FOB  HYDBOCEPHALU8 — UNSETTLED  6TATB 
OF  THINGS  IN  PABIS. 

IN  the  autumn  of  1846,  I  went  with  my  family  to 
Paris,  partly  for  literary  purposes,  and  partly  also  to  give 
my  children  advantages  of  education,  which,  in  conse 
quence  of  my  absorbing  cares  for  a  series  of  years,  they 
had  been  denied.  Here  they  remained  for  nearly  two 
years,  while  I  returned  home  to  attend  to  my  affairs, 
spending  the  winters,  however,  with  them. 

Toward  the  close  of  1849  I  removed  to  New  York,  to 
execute  certain  literary  engagements.  These  completed, 
I  went,  in  December  1850,  to  Washington,  taking  my 
family  with  me.  Here  we  remained  for  three  months, 
when,  having  received  the  appointment  of  United  States 
Consul  to  Paris,  I  returned  to  New  York,  and,  after  due 
preparation,  sailed  on  the  5th  of  April,  1851,  to  enter 
upon  the  official  duties  which  thus  devolved  upon  me. 

About  the  middle  of  April,  1851,  I  arrived  in  Paris, 
and  soon  after  took  charge  of  the  Consulate  there.  I 
have  frequently  been  in  this  gay  city,  and  I  now  propose 
to  gather  up  my  recollections  of  it,  and  select  therefrom 
a  few  items  which  may  fill  up  the  blank  that  yet  remains 
in  my  story. 

I  first  visited  Paris  in  January,  1824,  as  I  have  told 


PETER     PARLEY'S     OWN      STORY.          267 

you.  At  the  time  I  first  arrived  here,  this  city  was  very 
different  from  what  it  now  is.  Louis  XVIII.  was  upou 
the  throne,  and  had  occupied  it  for  nine  years.  During 
this  period  he  had  done  almost  nothing  to. repair  the 
state  of  waste  and  dilapidation  in  which  the  Allies  had 
left  it.  These  had  taken  down  the  statue  of  Napoleon 
on  the  column  of  the  Place  Vendome,  and  left  its 
pedestal  vacant ;  the  king  had  followed  up  the  reform 
and  erased  the  offensive  name  of  the  exiled  Emperor  from 
the  public  monuments,  and  put  his  own,  Louis  XVIII., 
in  their  place ;  he  had  caused  a  few  churches  to  be 
repaired,  and  some  pictures  of  the  Virgin  to  be  painted 
and  placed  in  their  niches.  But  ghastly  mounds  of  rub 
bish,  the  wrecks  of  demolished  edifices  ;  scattered  heaps 
of  stones  at  the  foot  of  half-built  walls  of  buildings, — 
destined  never  to  be  completed, — these  and  other  un 
sightly  objects  were  visible  on  every  hand,  marking  the 
recent  history  of  Napoleon,  overthrown  in  the  midst  of 
his  mighty  projects,  afcd  leaving  his  name  and  his  works 
to  be  desecrated  alike  by  a  foreign  foe  and  a  more  bitter 
domestic  adversary. 

The  king,  Louis  XVIII.,  was  a  man  of  good  sense  and 
liberal  mind,  for  one  of  his  race ;  but  he  was  wholly 
unfit  to  administer  the  government.  He  was  a  sort  of 
monster  of  obesity,  and,  at  the  time  I  speak  of,  having 
lost  the  use  of  his  lower  limbs,  he  could  not  walk,  and 
was  trundled  about  the  palace  of  the  Tuileries  in  a  wheel 
chair.  I  have  often  seen  him  let  down  in  this,  through 
the,  arch  in  the  south-eastern  angle  of  the  palace,  into 
his  coach  ;  and  on  returning  from  his  ride,  again  taken 
up ;  and  all  this  more  like  a  helpless  barrel  of  beef  than 
a  sovereign.  Had  the  Allies  intended  to  make  Legiti 
macy  at  once  odious  and  ridiculous,  they  could  not  bet- 


268  PETEK     PARLEY'S 

ter  have  contrived  it  than  by  squatting  down  this  obese 
imbecile  extinguisher  upon  the  throne  of  France,  as  the 
successor  of  Napoleou ! 

The  Parisians  are,  however,  a  philosophic  race :  as 
they  could  not  help  themselves,  they  did  not  spend  their 
lives  like  children,  in  profitless  poutings.  They  had  their 
jokes,  and  among  these,  they  were  accustomed  to  call 
Louis  Dix-huit,  "  Louis  des  huitres  " — a  tolerable  pun, 
which  was  equivalent  to  giving  him  the  familiar  title  of 
"  Oyster  Louis."  Deeming  it  their  birthright  to  have 
three  or  four  hours  of  pleasure  every  day,  whoever  may 
be  in  power,  they  still  frequented  the  promenades,  the 
boulevards,  and  the  theatres. 

I  cannot,  perhaps,  do  better  than  transcribe  a  few 
passages  from  the  hasty  jottings  I  made  at  the  time : — 

"  February  14. — Went  to  a  meeting  of  the  Societ6 
Philomatique,  composed  of  members  of  the  Institute ; 
saw  Fourier,  the  famous  geometrician  and  physician  : 
Thenard,  a  famous  chemist,  associated  with  Gay-Lussac  : 
Poisson,  one  of  the  first  mathematicians  in  Europe ;  and 
Geoffrey  St.  Hilaire,  a  zoologist,  second  only  to  Cuvier. 

"The  proceedings  were  conducted  with  order  and 
simplicity,  forming  a  striking  contrast  to  the  pompous 
declamation  I  heard  in  London,  at  the  Society  of  Arts, 
upon  hatching  eggs. 

"February  16. — Went  to  a  meeting  of  the  Institute, 
held  in  the  Hotel  Mazarin  :  one  hundred  and  fifty  mem 
bers  present ;  Arago  president.  He  is  tall,  broad-shoul 
dered,  and  imposing  in  appearance,  with  a  dark,  swarthy 
complexion,  and  a  black,  piercing  eye.  Lamarck,  the 
famous  writer  on  natural  history — old,  infirm,  blind — 
was  led  in  by  another  member,  a  distinguished  entomolo 
gist,  whose  name  I  have  forgotten  :  Fontaine,  the  archi- 


OWK      STORY.  269 

tect ;  tall,  homely,  and  aged :  Gay-Lussac,  a  renowned 
chemist,  under  forty,  active,  fiery  in  debate:  Cuvier, 
rather  a  large  man,  red  face,  eyes  small,  very  near 
sighted  ;  eyes  near  together  and  oddly  appearing  and  dis 
appearing  ;  features  acute,  hair  grey,  long,  and  careless : 
he  spoke  several  times,  and  with  great  pertinency 
and  effect ;  Lacroix,  the  mathematician :  Laplace,  the 
most  famous  living  astronomer ;  tall,  thin,  and  sharp- 
featured — reminded  me  of  the  portraits  of  Voltaire ;  he 
is  about  seventy-five,  feeble,  yet  has  all  his  mental 
faculties. 

"  The  principal  discussion  related  to  gasometers,  the 
police  of  Paris  having  asked  the  opinion  of  the  Institute 
as  to  the  safety  of  certain  new  kinds,  lately  introduced. 
The  subject  excited  great  interest,  and  the  debate  was 
quite  animated.  Thenard,  Gay-Lussac,  Girard,  Laplace, 
Cuvier,  and  others,  engaged  in  the  debate.  Nearly  all 
expressed  themselves  with  great  ease  and  even  volubility. 
They  were  occasionally  vehement,  and  when  excited  sev 
eral  spoke  at  once,  and  the  president  was  obliged  often  to 
ring  his  bell  to  preserve  order. 

"  It  was  strange  and  striking  to  see  so  many  old  men, 
just  on  the  borders  of  the  grave,  still  retaining  such  ardor 
for  science  as  to  appear  at  a  club  like  this,  and  enter  with 
passion  into  all  the  questions  that  came  up.  Such  a 
spectacle  is  not  to  be  seen  elsewhere  on  the  earth.  The 
charms  of  science  generally  fade  to  the  eye  of  threescore 
and  ten :  few  passions  except  piety  and  avarice  survive 
threescore.  It  is  evident,  in  studying  this  Association, 
that  the  highest  and  most  ardent  exercises  of  the  mind 
are  here  stimulated  by  the  desire  of  glory,  which  is  the 
reward  of  success.  One  thing  struck  me  forcibly  in  this 
assembly,  and  that  was,  the  utter  absence  of  all  French 


270  PETER     PARLEY'S 

foppery  in  dress  among  the  members.  Their  attire  was 
plain  black,  and  generally  as  simple  as  that  of  so  many 
New  England  clergymen. 

"In  the  evening  went  to  the  Theatre  Francais,  to  see 
Talma  in  the  celebrated  tragedy  of  '  Sylla,'  by  Jouy.  Do 
not  well  understand  the  French,  but  could  see  that  the 
acting  is  very  masterly.  In  the  passionate  parts  there 
was  a  display  of  vigor,  but  at  other  times  the  performance 
was  quiet  and  natural,  without  any  of  the  stage  exaggera 
tion  I  am  accustomed  to.  Most  of  the  scenes  were  such 
as  might  actually  take  place  .under  the  circumstances  in 
dicated  in  the  play.  Talma  is  said  to  resemble  Napoleon 
in  person :  he  certainly  looked  very  much  like  his  por 
traits.  His  hair  was  evidently  arranged  to  favor  the  idea 
of  resemblance  to  the  Emperor.  He  is  a  very  handsome 
man,  and  comes  up  to  my  idea  of  a  great  actor. 

"  February  20. — Went  to  see  a  new  comedy  by  Casi- 
mir  Delavigne,  'L'Ecole  des  Vieillards.'  Talma  and 
Mademoiselle  Mars  played  the  two  principal  parts.  The 
piece  consisted  of  a  succession  of  rather  long  dialogues, 
without  any  change  of  scenery.  Talma  is  inimitable  in 
the  character  of  a  refined  but  somewhat  imbecile  man, 
who  has  passed  the  prime  of  life;  and  Mademoiselle 
Mars  is,  beyond  comparison,  the  most  graceful  and  pleas 
ing  of  actresses.  I  am  struck  with  the  strict  propriety, 
the  refinement  even,  of  the  manners  of  the  audience. 

"February  21st. — Went  to  the  Hospital  of  La  Charite. 
Saw  Laennec,  with  his  pupils,  visiting  the  patients.  He 
makes  great  use  of  the  stethoscope,  which  is  a  wooden 
tube  applied  to  the  body,  and  put  to  the  ear ;  by  the 
sound,  the  state  of  the  lungs  and  the  vital  organs  is  as 
certained.  It  is  like  a  telescope,  by  which  the  interior  of 
the  body  is  perceived,  only  that  the  ear  is  used  instead  of 


OWN      8TORT.  271 

the  eye.  It  is  deemed  a  great  improvement.  Laennec 
is  the  inventor,  and  has  high  reputation  in  the  treatment 
of  diseases  of  the  chest.  He  has  learned  to  ascertain  the 
condition  of  the  lungs  hy  thumping  on  the  breast  and 
back  of  the  patient,  and  putting  the  ear  to  the  body  at 
the  same  time. 

"  The  whole  hospital  was  neat  and  clean  ;  bedsteads  of 
iron.  French  medical  practice  very  light ;  few  medicines 
given  ;  nursing  is  a  great  part  of  the  treatment. 

"  Same  day,  went  to  Hotel  Dieu,  a  medical  and  surgi 
cal  hospital.  Saw  Dupuytren  and  his  pupils  visiting  the 
patients.  He  holds  the  very  first  rank  as  a  surgeon.  His 
operations  are  surprisingly  bold  and  skilful.  Edward 

C ,  of  Philadelphia,  who  is  here  studying  medicine, 

told  me  a  good  anecdote  of  him.  He  has  a  notion  that 
he  can  instantly  detect  hydrocephalus  in  a  patient  from 
the  manner  in  which  he  carries  his  head.  One  day, 
while  he  was  in  the  midst  of  his  scholars  at  the  hospital, 
he  saw  a  common  sort  of  man  standing  at  a  distance, 
among  several  persons  who  had  come  for  medical  advice. 
Dupuytren's  eye  fell  upon  him,  and  he  said  to  his  pupils, 
— '  Do  you  see  yonder  that  fellow  that  has  his  hand  to  his 
face,  and  carries  his  head  almost  on  his  shoulder  ?  Now, 
take  notice  :  that  man  has  hydrocephalus.  Come  here, 
my  good  fellow !' 

"The  man  thus  called  came  up.     'Well,'  said  Dupuy- , 
tren,  '  I  know  what  ails  you ;  but  come,  tell  us  about  it 
yourself.     What  is  the  matter  with  you  ?' 

"  '  I've  got  the  toothache  !'  was  the  reply. 

" '  Take  that,'  said  Dupuytren,  giving  him  a  box  on 
the  ear ;  '  and  go  to  the  proper  department  and  have  it 
pulled  out !' " 

I  was  again  in  Paris  in  the  summer  of  1832.    Great 


272  PETER      PARLEY'S 

changes  had  taken  place  since  1824.  Louis  XVHT.  was 
dead ;  Charles  X.  had  succeeded ;  and,  after  a  brief  reign, 
had  been  driven  away  by  the  revolution  of  the  "  Three  Glo 
rious  Days."  Louis  Philippe  was  now  on  the  throne.  On 
the  29th  of  July,  and  the  two  following  days,  we  saw  the 
celebration  of  the  event  which  had  thus  changed  the  dy 
nasty  of  France.  It  consisted  of  a  grand  fete,  in  the 
Champs  Elysees,  closed  by  a  most  imposing  military  spec 
tacle,  in  which  eighty  thousand  troops,  extending  from 
the  Arc  de  Triomphe  to  the  Place  Vendome,  marched 
before  the  admiring  throng.  Louis  Philippe  was  himself 
on  horseback  as  commander-in-chief,  and  such  was  his 
popularity  among  the  masses,  that,  in  many  instances,  I 
saw  men  in  blouses  rush  up  and  grasp  his  hand,  and  in 
sist  upon  shaking  it.  Sixteen  years  after  I  saw  him 
hustled  into  a  cab,  and  flying  from  the  mob  for  his  life — 
his  family  scattered,  and  he  but  too  happy  to  get  safe  to 
England  in  the  disguise  of  a  sailor  1 

As  I  have  said,  I  established  my  family  in  Paris  in 
1846 ;  that  winter  and  the  following  I  was  also  there.  I 
remember  that  on  a  certain  Monday  in  February,  1848, 
I  went  up  to  see  our  countrywoman,  the  Marchioness  La- 
valette,  to  arrange  with  her  about  an  introduction  she  had 
promised  me  to  Guizot.  She  was  not  at  home,  but  as  I 
was  coming  down  the  hill  from  the  Place  St.  George,  I 
met  her  in  her  carriage.  She  asked  me  to  walk  back  to 
her  house,  and  I  did  so.  I  observed  that  she  was  much 
agitated,  and  asked  her  the  cause.  "  We  are  going  to 
have  trouble !"  said  she.  "  I  have  just  been  to  the 
Chambers:  the  ministry  have  determined  to  stop  the 
meeting  of  the  Liberals  to-morrow ;  the  proclamation  is 
already  being  printed." 

«  Well,  and  what  then  ?"  said  I. 


OWN     8TORT.  278 

"  Another  '  Three  Glorious  Days !' " 

To  this  I  replied  that  I  conceived  her  fears  groundless , 
that  Louis  Philippe  appeared  to  me  strong  in  the  confi 
dence  of  the  people  ;  that  he  was  noted  for  his  prudence 
and  sagacity  ;  that  Guizot,  his  prime  minister,  was  a  man 
of  great  ability  ;  that  the  whole  cabinet,  indeed,  were 
distinguished  for  their  judgment  and  capacity.  The  lady 
shook  her  head  and  rejoined, — 

**  I  know  Paris  better  than  you  do.  We  are  on  the 
eve  of  an  earthquake  !" 

Soon  after  this  I  took  my  leave.  What  speedily  en 
sued  may  best  be  told  in  another  chapter,  by  a  few  ex 
tracts  from  a  letter  I  addressed  to  a  friend  in  Boston  at 
the  time. 


CHAPTER    XXIX. 

LOOTS  PHILIPPE  AND  THE  REVOLUTION— LIST  OF  GRIEVANCES — TEW  MOB  AT 
THE  MADELEINE  —  BARRICADES  —  "  DOWN  WITH  GTTIZOT  !  "  —  THE  FIGHT 
COMMENCED— FLIGHT  OF  THE  KING  AND  QUEEN — SCENE  IN  THE  CHAMBEB 
OF  DEPUTIES — SACK  OF  THE  TUILEEIES. 

PARIS,  March  14th,  1848. 

IT  may  be  well  to  state  a  few  particulars  as  to  the  po 
litical  condition  of  France  at  the  moment  of  the  revolt. 

Louis  Philippe  commenced  his  career  under  fair  aus 
pices,  and  for  a  time  everything  promised  a  happy  fulfil 
ment  of  what  seemed  his  duty  and  his  destiny.  But  by 
degrees  a  great  change  came  over  the  monarch  ;  the 
possession  of  power  seduced  his  heart,  and  turned  his 
head ;  and  forgetting  his  pledges,  and  blind  to  his  true 
interest,  he  set  himself  to  building  up  a  dynasty  that 
should  hand  down  his  name  and  fame  to  posterity. 

It  seemed,  at  a  superficial  glance,  that  he  might  realize 
his  dream.  He  had  acquired  the  reputation  of  being  the 
most  sagacious  monarch  of  his  time.  He  had  improved 
and  embellished  the  capital;  on  all  sides  his  "image  and 
superscription  "  were  seen  in  connection  with  works  of 
beauty  and  utility.  France  was  happier  than  the  adja 
cent  countries.  The  famine  and  the  pestilence,  that  had 
recently  desolated  neighboring  states,  had  trod  more 
lightly  here.  The  king  was  blessed  with  a  large  family. 
These  had  all  reached  maturity,  and  were  allied  to  kinga 


PETER  PARLEY  8  OWN   STORY.    275 

and  queens,  princes  and  princesses.  The  upholders  of 
the  Crown  in  the  parliament  were  men  whose  names 
alone  were  a  tower  of  strength.  Peace  reigned  at  home, 
and  the  army  abroad  had  just  succeeded  in  achieving  a 
signal  triumph  over  an  enemy  that  had  baffled  them  for 
years. 

Such  was  the  outward  seeming  of  affairs :  but  there 
were  threatening  fires  within  which  might  at  any  mo 
ment  produce  a  conflagration.  Many  thinking  people 
were  profoundly  disgusted  with  the  retrograde  tendency 
of  the  Government.  Although  the  march  of  despotism 
had  been  cautious  and  stealthy,  the  people  generally 
began  to  feel  the  tyranny  to  which  they  had  become 
subjected. 

Among  these  grievances  were  the  constant  increase  of 
the  national  debt,  and  consequent  increase  of  taxation, 
with  the  restraints  put  upon  the  liberty  of  the  press  and 
of  speech.  By  a  law  of  some  years'  standing  the  people 
were  prohibited  from  holding  stated  meetings  of  more 
than  twenty  persons  without  license ;  and  reform  ban 
quets,  or  meetings  for  the  discussion  of  public  affairs — 
of  which  about  seventy  had  been  held  in  different  parts 
of  the  kingdom  within  the  last  .year — were  now  pro 
nounced  illegal  by  the  ministry.  Finally,  a  determination 
to  suppress  one  of  them,  about  to  be  held  in  the  twelfth 
ward  of  Paris,  was  solemnly  announced  by  the  Ministry 
in  the  Chamber  of  Deputies. 

It  is  material  to  bear  in  mind,  that  there  are  always  in 
this  metropolis  at  least  one  hundred  thousand  workmen 
who  live  from  day  to  day  upon  their  labor,  and  who, 
upon  the  slightest  check  to  trade,  are  plunged  into  pov 
erty,  if  not  starvation.  At  the  moment  of  which  we  are 
speaking,  this  immense  body  of  men,  with  their  families, 


276  PETER     PARLEY'S 

were  suffering  sorely  from  the  stagnation  of  business  in 
the  capital.  There  were  not  less  than  two  hundred 
thousand  persons  who,  for  the  space  of  three  months,  had 
hardly  been  able  to  obtain  sufficient  food  to  appease  the 
cravings  of  hunger.  How  easy  to  stir  up  these  people  to 
rebellion  ! — how  natural  for  them  to  turn  their  indigna 
tion  against  the  king  and  his  government !  The  "  Oppo 
sition  "  members  seized  the  occasion  now  afforded  them 
to  excite  these  discontented  masses  against  the  ministry ; 
and  the  latter,  by  their  rashness,  did  more  than  their 
enemies  to  prepare  the  mind  and  set  the  match  to  the 
train. 

The  crisis  was  now  at  hand.  The  "  Opposition  "  depu 
ties  declared  their  intention  to  attend  the  proposed  meet 
ing  ;  and  in  spite  of  the  threats  of  the  ministry,  the 
preparations  for  the  banquet  went  vigorously  on.  A 
place  was  selected  in  the  Champs  Elysees,  and  a  building 
was  in  progress  of  erection  for  the  celebration.  The 
programme  of  the  same  was  announced ;  the  toast  for 
the  occasion  was  published ;  the  orator,  0.  Bafrot,  select 
ed.  The  day  was  fixed  :  an  ominous  day  for  tyranny,  an 
auspicious  one  for  human  freedom.  It  was  the  22d  of 
February,  the  birthday  of  Washington !  Whether  it 
has  received  a  new  title  to  its  place  in  the  calendar  of 
liberty,  must  be  left  for  the  decision  of  time. 

The  evening  of  the  21st  came,  and  then  proclamations 
were  issued,  by  the  co-operation  of  the  ministry  and  the 
police  prohibiting  the  banquet.  This  act,  though  it  had 
been  threatened,  still  fell  like  a  thunderbolt  upon  the 
people.  It  was  known  that  an  immense  military  force 
had  been  quietly  assembled  in  Paris  and  the  vicinity — 
eighty  thousand  troops,  with  artillery  and  ample  muni 
tions — and  that  the  garrisons  around  the  Tuileries  had 


OWN     STORY.  277 

been  victualled  as  if  for  a  siege.  But  it  had  not  been 
believed  that  an  attempt  to  stifle  the  voice  of  the  people, 
so  bold  as  this,  would  really  be  made.  Yet  such  was  the 
fact.  The  leaders  of  the  "  Opposition "  receded  from 
their  ground ;  and  it  was  announced,  in  the  papers  of 
the  22d,  that  the  banquet,  being  forbidden  by  the  Gov 
ernment,  would  not  take  place. 

The  morning  of  this  day  was  dark  and  drizzly.  I 
had  anticipated  some  manifestation  of  uneasiness,  and  at 
half-past  nine  o'clock  went  forth.  Groups  of  people  were 
reading  the  proclamations  posted  up  at  the  corners  of  the 
streets,  but  all  was  tranquil.  I  walked  along  the  Boule 
vards  for  a  mile  yet  saw  no  symptoms  of  the  coming 
storm. 

The  designated  place  of  meeting  for  the  banquet  was 
the  square  of  the  Madeleine.  This  is  at  the  western 
extremity  of  the  Boulevards,  and  near  the  great  central 
square  called  the  Place  de  la  Concorde,  a  point  com 
municating  directly  with  the  Chamber  of  Deputies,  the 
Champs  Elysees,  the  gardens  of  the  Tuileries,  &c.  At 
eleven  o'clock,  A.M.,  a  dark  mass  was  seen  moving  along  the 
Boulevards  towards  the  proposed  place  of  meeting.  This 
consisted  of  thousands  of  workmen' from  the  faubourgs. 
In  a  few  moments  the  entire  square  of  the  Madeleine 
was  filled  with  these  persons,  dressed  almost  exclusively 
in  their  characteristic  costume,  which  consists  of  a  blue 
tunic,  called  blouse — a  garment  which  is  made  very  much 
in  the  fashion  of  our  farmers'  frocks. 

The  opening  scene  of  the  drama  had  now  begun.  The 
mass  rushed  and  eddied  around  the  Madeleine,  which,  by 
the  way,  is  the  finest  church  and  the  finest  edifice  in 
Paris.  Such  was  the  threatening  aspect  of  the  scene, 
that  the  shops  were  all  suddenly  shut,  and  the  people 
24 


278  PETER     PARLEY'S 

around  began  to  supply  themselves,  with  bread  and  other 
food,  for  "  three  days."  In  a  few  moments  the  avalanche 
took  its  course  down  the  Rue  Royale,  swept  across  the 
Place  de  la  Concorde,  traversed  the  bridge  over  the 
Seine,  and  collected,  in  swelling  and  heaving  masses,  in 
the  place,  or  square,  before  the  Chamber  of  Deputies. 
This  building  is  defended  in  front  by  a  high  iron  railing. 
The  gate  of  this  was  soon  forced,  and  some  hundreds  of 
the  people  rushed  up  the  long  flight  of  steps,  and,  pausing 
beneath  the  portico,  struck  up  the  song  of  the  "  Mar 
seillaise  " — a  song,  by  the  way,  interdicted  by  law  on  ac 
count  of  its  exciting  character.  The  crowd  here  rapidly 
increased :  shouts,  songs,  cries  filled  the  air.  East  and 
west,  along  the  quays,  and  through  the  streets  behind 
the  Chamber,  came  long  lines  of  students  from  the  various 
schools.  Standing  upon  one  of  the  pillars  of  the  bridge, 
I  commanded  a  view  of  the  whole  scene.  It  was  one  to 
fill  the  heart  with  the  liveliest  emotions.  A  hundred 
thousand  people  were  now  collected,  seeming  like  an 
agitated  sea,  and  sending  forth  a  murmur  resembling  the 
voice  of  many  waters.  From  the  southern  gate  of  the 
Tuileries  now  issued  two  bodies  of  troops — one,  on  horse 
back,  coming  along  the  northern  quay.  These  were  the 
Municipal  Guard,  a  magnificent  corps,  richly  caparisoned, 
and  nobly  mounted.  Being  picked  men,  and  well  paid, 
they  were  the  chief  reliance  of  the  Government,  and  for 
that  very  reason  were  hated  by  the  people.  The  other 
body  of  troops  were  infantry  of  the  line,  and,  crossing  the 
Pont  Royal,  came  along  the  southern  bank  of  the  river. 
Both  detachments  approached  the  multitude,  and  crowd 
ing  upon  them  with  a  slow  advance,  succeeded  at  last  in 
clearing  the  space  before  the  Chamber. 
The  greater  part  of  the  throng  recrossed  the  bridge, 


OWN     STORY.  279 

and  spread  themselves  over  the  Place  de  la  Concorde. 
This  square,  perhaps  the  most  beautiful  in  the  world,  is 
about  five  acres  in  extent.  This  vast  area  was  now 
crowded  with  an  excited  populace,  mainly  of  the  working 
classes.  Their  number  constantly  augmented,  and  bodies 
of  troops,  foot  and  horse,  arrived  from  various  quarters, 
till  the  square  was  literally  covered.  The  number  of  per 
sons  here  collected  in  one  mass  was  over  one  hundred 
thousand. 

At  the  commencement,  the  mob  amused  themselves 
with  songs  and  shouts ;  but  in  clearing  the  space  before 
the  Chamber,  and  driving  the  people  across  the  bridge, 
the  guards  had  displayed  great  rudeness.  They  pressed 
upon  the  masses,  and  one  woman  was  crushed  to  death 
beneath  the  hoofs  of  the  horses.  Pebbles  now  began  to 
be  hurled  at  the  troops  from  the  square.  Dashing  in 
among  the  people,  sword  in  hand,  the  cavalry  drove  them 
away ;  but  as  they  cleared  one  spot,  another  was  im 
mediately  filled.  The  effect  of  this  was  to  chafe  and 
irritate  the  mob,  who  now  began  to  seize  sticks  and 
stones,  and  hurl  them  in  good  earnest  at  their  assailants. 

While  this  petty  war  was  going  on,  some  thousands  of 
the  rioters  dispersed  themselves  'through  the  Champs 
Elysees,  and  began  to  build  barricades  across  the  main 
avenue.  The  chairs,  amounting  to  many  hundreds,  were 
immediately  disposed  in  three  lines  across  the  street. 
Benches,  trellises,  boxes,  fences — every  movable  thing 
within  reach — were  soon  added  to  the  .barricades.  An 
omnibus  passing  by  was  captured,  detached  from  the 
horses,  and  tumbled  into  one  of  the  lines.  The  flag  was 
taken  from  the  Panorama  near  by,  and  a  vast  procession 
paraded  through  the  grounds,  singing  the  "Marseillaise,'* 
the  "  Parisienne,"  and  other  patriotic  airs. 


280  PETBK     PARLEY'S 

Meanwhile,  a  small  detachment  of  foot  guards  ad 
vanced  to  the  scene  of  action  ;  but  they  were  pelted  with 
stones,  and  took  shelter  in  their  guard-house.  This  was 
assailed  with  a  shower  of  missiles,  which  rattled  like  hail 
upon  its  roof.  The  windows  were  dashed  in,  and  a  heap 
of  brush  near  by  was  laid  to  the  wall,  and  set  on  fire.  A 
body  of  horse  guards  soon  arrived,  and  dispersed  the 
rioters ;  but  the  latter  crossed  to  the  northern  side  of  the 
Champs  Elysees,  attacked  another  guard-house,  and  set 
it  on  fire.  A  company  of  the  line  came  to  the  spot,  but 
the  mob  cheered  them,  and  they  remained  inactive.  The 
revel  proceeded,  and,  in  the  face  of  the  soldiers,  the  peo 
ple  fed  the  fire  with  fuel  from  the  surrounding  trees  and 
fences,  sang  their  songs,  cracked  their  jokes,  and  cried 
"  Down  with  Guizot !"  "  Vive  la  Reforme !"  &c.  In  these 
scenes  the  boys  took  the  lead,  performing  the  most 
desperate  feats,  and  inspiring  the  rest  by  their  intrepidity. 
A  remarkable  air  of  fun  and  frolic  characterized  the  mob 
— jokes  flew  as  freely  on  all  sides  as  stones  and  sticks. 

Such  was  the  course  of  events  the  first  day,  so  far  as 
they  fell  under  my  own  observation.  It  appears  from  the 
papers  that  similar  proceedings,  though  in  some  cases  of 
a  more  serious  character,  took  place  elsewhere.  Great 
masses  of  people  gathered  at  various  points.  They  made 
hostile  demonstrations  before  the  Office  of  Foreign 
Affairs,  crying  out,  "  Down  with  Guizot !"  Some  person 
called  for  the  minister.  "  He  is  not  here,"  said  one;  "he 
is  with  the  Countess  Lieven," — a  remark  which  the 
habitues  of  Paris  will  understand  as  conveying  a  keen 
satire.  At  other  points  a  spirit  of  insubordination  was 
manifested.  Bakers'  shops  were  broken  open,  armories 
forced,  and  barricades  begun.  Everywhere  the  hymn  of 
the  "  Marseillaise  "  and  "  Mourir  pour  la  Patrie  "  were 


OWN      STORY.  281 

sung — often  by  hundreds  of  voices,  and  with  thrilling 
effect.  The  rappel  for  calling  out  the  National  Guard 
was  beaten  in  several  quarters.  As  night  closed  in, 
heavy  masses  of  soldiery,  horse  and  foot,  with  trains  of 
artillery,  were  seen  at  various  points.  The  Place  du 
Cairousel  was  full  of  troops,  and  at  evening  they  were 
reviewed  by  the  King  and  the  Dukes  of  Nemours  and 
Montpensier.  Six  thousand  soldiers  were  disposed  along 
the  boulevards  from  the  Madeleine  to  the  Porte  St. 
Martin.  Patrols  were  seen  in  different  quarters  during 
the  whole  night.  About  twelve  tranquillity  reigned  over 
the  city,  disturbed  only  in  a  few  remote  and  obscure 
places  by  the  building  of  barricades,  the  arrest  of  rioters, 
and  one  or  two  combats,  in  which  several  persons  were 
killed.  Such  was  the  first  day's  work — the  prelude  to 
the  drama  about  to  follow. 

Wednesday,  the  23d,  was  fair,  with  dashes  of  rain  at 
intervals,  as  in  our  April.  I  was  early  abroad,  and  soon 
noticed  that  companies  of  National  Guards  were  on  duty. 
Only  regular  troops  had  been  called  out  the  day  before — 
a  fact  which  showed  the  distrust  of  the  National  Guards 
entertained  by  the  king.  This  was  remarked  by  the  lat 
ter,  and  was  doubtless  one  of  the  causes  which  hastened 
the  destruction  of  the  Government. 

At  nine  o'clock  I  passed  up  the  Boulevards.  Most  of  the 
shops  were  shut,  and  an  air  of  uneasiness  prevailed  among 
the  people.  At  the  Porte  St.  Denis  there  was  a  great 
throng,  and  a  considerable  mass  of  troops.  Barricades 
were  soon  after  erected  in  the  streets  of  St.  Denis,  Clery, 
St.  Enstache,  Cadran,  &c.  Several  fusilades  took  place 
between  the  people  at  these  points  and  the  soldiers,  and 
a  number  of  persons  were  killed. 

Some  contests  occurred  in  other  quarters  during  the 
24* 


282  PETER     PARLEY'S 

motning.  At  two  o'clock  the  Boulevards,  the  Rues  St. 
Denis,  St.  Martin,  Montmartre,  St.  Honore — in  short,  all 
the  great  thoroughfares — were  literally  crammed  witl 
people.  Bodies  of  horse  and  foot,  either  stationary  01 
patrolling,  were  everywhere  to  be  seen.  It  was  about 
this  time  that  some  officers  of  the  National  Guard  ordered 
their  men  to  fire,  but  they  refused.  In  one  instance  four 
hundred  National  Guards  were  seen  marching,  in  uniform, 
but  without  arms.  It  became  evident  that  the  soldiers 
generally  were  taking  part  with  the  people.  This  news 
was  carried  to  the  palace,  and  Count  Mole  was  called  in 
to  form  a  new  ministry.  He  undertook  the  task,  and 
orders  were  immediately  given  to  spread  the  intelligence 
of  this  through  the  city. 

Meanwhile  the  riot  and  revel  went  on  in  various  quar 
ters.  The  police  were  active,  and  hundreds  of  persons 
were  arrested  and  lodged  in  prison.  Skirmishes  took 
place,  here  and  there,  between  the  soldiers  and  the 
people  ;  long  processions  were  seen,  attended  by  persons 
who  sang  choruses,  and  shouted  "  Down  with  Guizot !" 
"  Vive  la  Reforme  !" 

About  four  o'clock  the  news  of  the  downfall  of  the 
Gnizot  ministry  was  spread  along  the  Boulevards.  The 
joyful  intelligence  ran  over  the  city  with  the  speed  of 
light.  It  was  everywhere  received  with  acclamations. 
The  people  and  the  troops,  a  short  time  before  looking  at 
each  other  in  deadly  hostility,  were  seen  shaking  hands, 
and  expressing  congratulations.  An  immense  population 
— men,  women,  and  children — poured  into  the  Boule 
vards,  to  share  in  the  jubilation.  Large  parties  of  the 
National  Guard  paraded  the  streets,  the  officers  and  men 
shouting  "  Vive  la  Reforme  !"  and  the  crowd  cheering 
loudly.  Bands  of  five  hundred  to  fifteen  hundred 


OVTN     STOKY. 

and  boys  went  about  making  noisy  demonstrations  of  joy. 
On  being  met  by  the  troops,  they  divided  to  let  them 
pass,  and  immediately  resumed  their  cries  and  their  songs, 

Toward  half-past  six  o'clock  in  the  evening  an  illumin 
ation  was  spoken  of,  and  many  persons  lighted  up  spon 
taneously.  The  illumination  soon  became  more  general, 
and  the  populace,  in  large  numbers,  went  through  the 
streets,  calling,  "  Light  up !"  Numerous  bands,  alone  or 
following  detachments  of  the  National  Guards,  went 
about,  shouting  "  Vive  le  Roi !"  "  Vive  la  Reforme !"  and 
singing  the  "  Marseillaise."  At  many  points,  where  bar 
ricades  had  been  erected,  and  the  people  were  resisting 
the  troops,  they  ceased  when  they  heard  the  news  of  the 
resignations,  and  the  troops  retired.  "It  is  all  over!" 
was  the  general  cry;  and  a  feeling  of  relief  seemed  to 
pervade  every  bosom. 

There  can  be  no  doubt  that,  but  for  a  fatal  occurrence 
which  soon  after  took  place,  the  further  progress  of  the 
revolt  might  have  been  stayed.  Many  wise  people  now 
say,  indeed,  that  the  revolution  was  all  planned  before 
hand  ;  they  had  foreseen  and  predicted  it :  and  from  the 
beginning  of  the  outbreak  everything  tended  to  this 
point.  The  fact  is  unquestionably  otherwise.  The  "  Op 
position,"  with  their  various  clubs  and  societies  distributed 
through  all  classes  in  Paris,  and  holding  constant  com 
munication  with  the  workmen  or  blousemen,  no  doubt 
stood  ready  to  take  advantage  of  any  violence  on  the  part 
of  the  Government  which  might  justify  resistance  ;  but 
they  had  not  anticipated  such  a  contingency  on  the 
present  occasion.  It  is  not  probable  that  the  Mole  min 
istry,  had  it  been  consummated,  would  have  satisfied  the 
people ;  but  the  king  had  yielded ;  Guizot,  the  special 
object  of  hatred,  had  fallen,  and  it  was  supposed  that 


284  PETER     PARLEY    8 

further  concessions  would  be  made,  as  concession  had  be 
gun.  But  accident,  which  often  rules  the  fate  of  em 
pires  and  dynasties,  now  stepped  in  to  govern  the  course 
of  events,  and  give  them  a  character  which  should  aston 
ish  the  world. 

In  the  course  of  the  evening  a  large  mass  of  people 
had  collected  on  the  Boulevard,  in  the  region  of  Guizot's 
office — the  Hotel  des  Affaires  Etrangeres.  The  troops 
here  had  unfortunately  threatened  the  people,  by  rushing 
at  them  with  fixed  bayonets,  after  the  announcement  of 
the  resignation  of  the  ministry,  and  when  a  good  feeling 
prevailed  among  all  classes.  This  irritated  the  mob,  and 
was  partly,  no  doubt,  the  occasion  of  the  large  gathering 
in  this  quarter.  For  some  reason,  not  well  explained,  a 
great  many  troops  had  also  assembled  here  and  in  the 
vicinity.  At  ten  o'clock,  the  street  from  the  Madeleine 
to  the  Rue  de  la  Paix  was  thronged  with  soldiers  and 
people.  There  was,  however,  no  riot  and  no  symptom 
of  disorder. 

At  this  moment  a  collection  of  persons,  mostly  young 
men,  about  sixty  in  number,  came  along  the  Boulevard, 
on  the  side  opposite  to  the  soldiers  and  the  Foreign 
Office.  It  is  said  that  the  colonel  anticipated  some 
attack,  though  nothing  of  the  kind  was  threatened.  It 
appears  that  the  soldiers  stood  ready  to  fire,  when  one  of 
their  muskets  went  off,  and  wounded  the  commander's 
horse  in  the  leg.  He  mistook  this  for  a  shot  from  the 
crowd,  and  gave  instant  orders  to  fire.  A  fusilade  im 
mediately  followed.  Twenty  persons  fell  dead,  and  forty 
were  wounded.  The  scene  which  ensued  bafBes  descrip 
tion.  The  immense  masses  dispersed  in  terror,  and  car 
ried  panic  in  all  directions.  The  groans  of  the  dying 
and  the  screams  of  the  wounded  filled  the  air.  Shops 


OWN    STOBT.  285 

and  houses  around  were  turned  into  hospitals.  "  We  are 
betrayed  !  we  are  betrayed !" — "  Revenge  !  revenge  !" 
was  the  cry  of  the  masses. 

From  this  moment  the  doom  of  the  monarchy  was 
sealed.  The  leaders  of  the  clubs,  no  doubt,  took  their 
measures  for  revolution.  An  immense  waggon  was  soon 
brought  to  the  scene  of  the  massacre ;  the  dead  bodies 
were  laid  on  it,  and  flaring  torches  were  lighted  over  it. 
The  ghastly  spectacle  was  paraded  through  the  streets, 
and  the  mute  lips  of  the  corpses  doubtless  spoke  more 
effectively  than  those  of  the  living.  Large  masses  of 
people,  pale  with  excitement  and  uttering  execrations 
upon  the  murderers,  followed  in  the  train  of  the  waggon, 
as  it  passed  through  the  more  populous  streets  of  the 
city,  and  especially  in  those  quarters  inhabited  by  the 
lower  classes.  The  effect  was  such  as  might  have  been 
anticipated.  At  midnight  the  barricades  were  begun, 
and  at  sunrise  the  streets  of  Paris  displayed  a  net-work 
of  fortifications  from  the  Place  St.  George  to  the  church 
of  Notre  Dame,  which  set  the  troops  at  defiance.  More 
than  a  thousand  barricades,  some  of  them  ten  feet  in 
height,  were  thrown  up  during  that  memorable  night; 
yet  such  were  the  suddenness  and  silence  of  the  opera 
tions,  that  most  of  the  inhabitants  of  the  city  slept  in 
security,  fondly  dreaming  that  the  tempest  had  passed, 
and  that  the  morning  would  greet  them  in  peace. 

On  Thursday,  the  decisive  day,  the  weather  was  still ' 
mild  and  without  rain,  though  the  sky  was  dimmed  with 
clouds.  At  eleven  in  the  morning  I  sallied  forth.  I 
cannot  express  my  astonishment  at  the  scene.  The 
whole  Boulevard  was  a  spectacle  of  desolation.  From 
the  Rue  de  la  Paix  to  the  Rue  Montmartre — the  finest 
part  of  Paris,  the  glory  of  the  city — every  tree  was  cut 


286  PETER     PARLEY'S 

down,  all  the  public  monuments  reduced  to  heaps  of 
ruins,  the  pavements  torn  up,  and  the  entire  wreck 
tumbled  into  a  succession  of  barricades.  Every  street 
leading  into  this  portion  of  the  Boulevard  was  strongly 
barricaded.  Such  giant  operations  seemed  like  the  work 
of  enchantment. 

But  my  wonder  had  only  begun.  At  the  point  where 
the  Rue  Montmartre  crosses  the  Boulevard,  the  entire 
pavement  was  torn  up,  and  something  like  a  square 
breastwork  was  formed,  in  which  a  cannon  was  planted. 
The  whole  space  around  was  crowded  with  the  populace. 
As  I  stood  for  a  moment  surveying  the  scene,  a  young 
man,  about  twenty,  passed  through  the  crowd,  and  step-, 
ping  upon  the  carriage  of  the  cannon,  cried  out,  "  Down 
with  Louis  Philippe !"  The  energy  with  which  this  was 
spoken  sent  a  thrill  through  every  bosom ;  and  the  re 
markable  appearance  of  the  youth  gave  additional  effect 
to  his  words.  He  was  short,  broad-shouldered,  and  full- 
chested.  His  face  was  pale,  his  cheek  spotted  with 
blood,  and  his  head,  without  hat  or  cap,  was  bound  with 
a  handkerchief.  His  features  were  keen,  and  his  deep- 
set  eye  was  lit  with  a  spark  that  seemed  borrowed  from 
a  tiger.  As  he  left  the  throng  he  came  near  me,  and  I 
said,  inquiringly,  "  Down  with  Louis  Philippe  ?"  "  Yes !" 
was  his  reply.  "And  what  then?"  said  I.  "A  repub 
lic  !"  was  his  answer  ;  and  he  passed  on,  giving  the 
watchword  of  "Down  with  Louis  Philippe!"  to  the 
masses  he  encountered.  This  was  the  first  instance  in 
which  I  heard  the  overthrow  of  the  king  and  the  adop 
tion  of  a  republic  proposed. 

In  pursuing  my  walk,  I  noticed  that  the  population 
were  now  abundantly  supplied  with  weapons.  On  the 
two  first  days  they  were  unarmed ;  but  after  the  slaughter 


OWN      8TOBT.  287 

at  the  Foreign  Office  they  went  to  all  the  houses  and  de 
manded  weapons.  These  were  given,  for  refusal  would 
have  been  vain.  An  evidence  of  the  consideration  of  the 
populace,  even  in  their  hour  of  wrath,  is  furnished  by  the 
fact,  that  in  all  cases  where  the  arms  had  been  surren 
dered,  they  wrote  on  the  doors  in  chalk,  "  Armes  d on- 
nees" — Arms  given  up ;  so  as  to  prevent  the  annoyance 
of  a  second  call. 

It  might  seem  a  fearful  thing  to  behold  a  mob,  such  as 
that  of  Paris,  brandishing  guns,  fowling-pieces,  swords, 
cutlasses,  hatchets,  and  axes ;  but  I  must  say  that  I  felt 
not  the  slightest  fear  in  passing  among  their  thickest 
masses.  Some  of  them,  who  had  doubtless  never  han 
dled  arms  before,  seemed  a  little  jaunty  and  jubilant. 
The  gamins — the  leaders  in  riots,  rows,  and  rebellions — • 
were  swarming  on  all  sides,  and  seemed  to  feel  a  head 
taller  in  the  possession  of  their  weapons.  I  saw  several 
of  these  unwashed  imps  strutting  about  with  red  sashes 
around  the  waist,  supporting  pistols,  dirks,  cutlasses,  &c. ; 
-yet  I  must  state  that  over  the  whole  scene  there  was  an 
air  of  good-breeding,  which  seemed  a  guarantee  against 
insult  or  violence.  I  may  also  remark  here,  that  during 
the  whole  three  days  I  did  not  observe  a  scuffle  or 
wrangle  among  the  people ;  I  did  not  hear  an  insulting 
word,  nor  did  I  see  a  menace  offered,  save  in  conflicts 
between  the  soldiers  and  the  populace.  I  can  add,  that 
I  did  not  see  a  drunken  person  during  the  whole  period, 
with  the  single  exception  which  I  shall  hereafter  mention. 

I  took  a  wide  circuit  in  the  region  of  the  Rue  Mont- 
martre,  the  Bourse,  the  Rue  Vivienne,  St.  Honore,  and 
the  Palais  Royal.  Everywhere  there  were  enormous 
barricades  and  crowds  of  armed  people.  Soon  after — 
that  is,  about  twelve  o'clock — I  passed  the  southern 


288  PBTEB     PARLEY'S 

quadrangle  of  the  Palais  Royal,  which,  lately  the  resi 
dence  of  the  brother  of  the  King  of  Naptes,  was  now 
attacked  and  taken  by  the  populace.  The  beautiful  suite 
of  rooms  was  richly  furnished,  and  decorated  with  costly 
pictures,  statues,  bronzes,  and  other  specimens  of  art. 
These  were  unsparingly  tumbled  into  the  square  and  the 
street,  and  consigned  to  the  flames.  At  the  distance  of 
one  hundred  and  fifty  feet  from  the  front  of  the  Palais 
Royal  was  the  Chateau  d'Eau,  a  massive  stone  building 
occupied  as  a  barrack,  and  at  this  moment  garrisoned  by 
one  hundred  and  eighty  municipal  guards.  In  most  parts 
of  the  city,  seeing  that  the  troops  fraternized  with  the 
people,  the  Government  had  given  them  orders  not  to 
fire.  These  guards,  however,  attacked  the  insurgents  in 
and  about  the  Palais  Royal.  Their  fire  was  returned, 
and  a  desperate  conflict  ensued.  The  battle  lasted  for 
more  than  an  hour,  the  people  rushing  in  the  very  face 
of  the  muskets,  of  the  guard,  as  they  blazed  from  the 
grated  windows.  At  last  the  barrack  was  set  on  fire, 
and.  the  guard  yielded,  though  not  till  many  of  their 
number  had  fallen,  and  the  rest  were  nearly  dead  with 
suffocation.  The  Chateau  d'Eau  is  now  a  mere  ruin,  its 
mottled  walls  giving  evidence  of  the  shower  of  bullets 
that  had  been  poured  upon  it. 

No  sooner  had  the  Chateau  d'Eau  surrendered,  than 
the  flushed  victors  took  their  course  towards  the  Tuileries, 
which  was  near  at  hand  ;  shouting,  singing,  roaring,  they 
came  like  a  surge,  bearing  all  before  them.  The  Place 
di  Carrousel  was  filled  with  troops ;  but  not  a  sword  was 
unsheathed — not  a  bayonet  pointed — not  a  musket  or  a 
cannon  fired.  There  stood,  idle  and  motionless,  the 
mighty  armament  which  the  king  had  appointed  for  his 
defence.  How  vain  had  his  calculations  proved !  for, 


OWN     STOEY.  289 

alas !  they  were  founded  in  a  radical  error.  The  soldiers 
would  not  massacre  their  brethren,  to  sustain  a  throne 
which  they  now  despised. 

But  we  must  now  enter  the  Tuileries.  For  several  days 
previous  to  the  events  we  have  described,  some  anxiety 
had  been  entertained  by  persons  in  and  about  the  palace. 
The  king,  however,  had  no  fears.  He  appeared  in  un 
usual  spirits  ;  and,  if  any  intimation  of  danger  was  given, 
he  turned  it  aside  with  a  sneer  or  a  joke.  Even  so  late 
as  Wednesday,  after  he  had  called  upon  Count  Mole  to 
form  a  new  ministry,  he  remarked  that  he  was  so  "  firmly 
seated  in  the  saddle,  that  nothing  could  throw  him  off." 

Mole  soon  found  it  impossible,  with  the  materials  at 
hand,  to  construct  a  ministry.  Thiers  was  then  called 
in ;  and,  after  a  long  course  of  higgling  and  chaffering 
on  the  part  of  the  king,  it  was  agreed  that  he  and  Bar- 
rot  should  undertake  to  carry  on  the  Government.  This 
was  announced  by  them  in  person,  as  they  rode  through 
the  streets  on  Thursday  morning.  These  concessions, 
however,  came  too  late.  The  cry  for  a  republic  was 
bursting  from  the  lips  of  the  million.  The  abdication  of 
the  king  was  decreed,  and  a  raging  multitude  were  de 
manding  this  at  the  very  gates  of  the  palace.  Overborne 
by  the  crisis,  the  king  agreed  to  abdicate  in  favor  of  the 
Duke  de  Nemours.  Some  better  tidings  were  brought 
him,  and  he  retracted  what  he  had  just  done.  A  moment 
after  it  became  certain  that  the  insurgents  would  shortly 
burst  into  the  palace.  In  great  trepidation,  the  king 
agreed  to  resign  the  crown  in  favor  of  his  grandson,  the 
young  Count  de  Paris ;  yet,  still  clinging  to  the  hope,  he 
shuffled  and  hesitated  before  he  would  put  his  name  to 
the  act  of  abdication.  This,  however,  was  at  last  done, 
and  the  king  and  queen,  dressed  in  black,  and  accom- 


290  PETER     PARLEY'S 

panied  by  a  few  individuals  who  remained  faithful  in  this 
trying  moment,  passed  from  the  Tuileries  to  the  Place  de 
la  Concorde,  through  the  subterranean  passage  construct 
ed  many  years  previously  for  the  walks  of  the  infant 
King  of  Rome.  They  here  entered  a  small,  one-horse 
vehicle,  and,  after  a  rapid  and  successful  flight,  landed 
safely  at  Dover,  in  England. 

Meanwhile,  the  mob  had  seized  the  royal  carriages, 
fourteen  in  number,  and  made  a  bonfire  of  them,  near 
the  celebrated  arch  in  the  Place  du  Carrousel.  Soon 
after,  they  forced  the  railing  at  several  points,  and  came 
rushing  across  the  square  toward  the  place.  Scarcely  had 
the  various  members  of  the  royal  family  time  to  escape 
on  one  side  of  the  building,  when  the  mob  broke  in  at 
the  other. 

I  have  not  time  to  follow  the  adventures  of  these  several 
individuals.  We  cannot  but  sympathize  with  them 
in  their  misfortunes ;  but  we  may  remark,  that  the  fall 
of  the  Orleans  dynasty  was  not  broken  by  a  single  act  of 
courage  or  dignity  on  the  part  of  any  one  of  the  family. 
Their  flight  seemed  a  vulgar  scramble  for  mere  life. 
Even  the  king  was  reduced  to  the  most  common  place 
disguises — the  shaving  of  his  whiskers,  the  change  of  his 
dress,  the  adopting  an  "  alias  !"  I  may  add  here,  that 
they  have  all  escaped ;  and  while  everybody  seems  glad  of 
this,  there  is  no  one  behind  who  mourns  their  loss.  None 
are  more  loud  in  denouncing  the  besotted  confidence  of 
the  king  than  his  two  hundred  and  twenty-five  purchased 
deputies,  who  were  so  loyal  in  the  days  of  prosperity. 

A  short  time  after  the  king  and  queen  had  passed  the 
Place  de  la  Concorde  I  chanced  to  be  there.  In  a  few 
moments  Odillon  Barrot  appeared  from  the  gate  of  the 
Tuileries,  and,  followed  by  a  long  train  of  persons,  pro 


OWN      8TORT.  291 

ceeded  to  the  Chamber  of  Deputies.  It  was  now  under 
stood  that  the  king  had  abdicated,  and  that  Thiers  and 
Barrot  were  to  propose  the  Count  de  Paris  as  king,  under 
the  regency  of  his  mother,  the  Duchess  of  Orleans.  The 
most  profound  emotion  seemed  to  occupy  the  immense 
multitude.  All  were  hushed  into  silence  by  the  rapid 
succession  of  astonishing  events.  After  a  short  space  the 
Duchess  of  Orleans,  with  her  two  sons,  the  Count  de 
Paris  and  the  Duke  de  Chartres,  were  seen  on  foot  com 
ing  toward  the  Chamber,  encircled  by  a  strong  escort. 
She  was  dressed  in  deep  mourning,  her  face  bent  to  the 
ground.  She  moved  across  the  bridge,  and  passing  to 
the  rear  of  the  building,  entered  it  through  the  gardens. 
Shortly  after  this  the  Duke  de  Nemours,  attended  by 
several  gentlemen  on  horseback,  rode  up,  and  also  entered 
the  building. 

The  scene  that  ensued  within  is  said  to  have  presented 
an  extraordinary  mixture  of  the  solemn  and  the  ludi 
crous.  The  duchess  being  present,  Barrot  proceeded  to 
state  the  abdication  of  the  king,  and  to  propose -the 
regency.  It  was  then  that  Lamartine  seemed  to  shake 
off  the  poet  and  philosopher,  and  suddenly  to  become  a 
man  of  action.  Seizing  the  critical  moment,  he  declared 
his  conviction  that  the  days  of  monarchy  were  numbered ; 
that  the  proposed  regency  was  not  suited  to  the  crisis ; 
and  that  a  republic  alone  would  meet  the  emergency  and 
the  wishes  of  France.  'These  opinions,  happily  expressed 
and  strenuously  enforced,  became  decisive  in  their  effect. 

Several  other  speeches  were  made,  and  a  scene  of  great 
confusion  followed.  A  considerable  number  of  the  mob 
had  broken  into  the  room,  and  occupied  the  galleries  and 
the  floor.  One  of  them  brought  his  firelock  to  his 
shoulder,  and  took  aim  at  M.  Sauzet,  the  president 


292  PETER      PARLEY'S 

Entirely  losing  his  self-possession,  he  abdicated  with  great 
speed,  and  disappeared.  In  the  midst  of  the  hubbub  a 
Provisional  Government  was  announced,  and  the  leading 
members  were  named.  Some  of  the  more  obnoxious 
deputies  were  aimed  at  ly  the  muskets  of  the  mob,  and 
skulking  behind  benches  and  pillars,  they  oozed  out  at 
back-doors  and  windows.  A  blouseman  came  up  to  the 
Duke  de  Nemours,  who  drew  his  sword.  The  man  took 
it  from  him,  broke  it  over  his  knee,  and  counselled  his 
highness  to  depart.  This  he  did  forthwith,  having  bor 
rowed  a  coat  and  hat  for  the  purpose  of  disguise.  A 
call  was  made  for  the  members  of  the  Provisional  Gov 
ernment  to  proceed  to  the  Hotel  de  Ville.  The  as 
sembly  broke  up,  and  the  curtain  fell  upon  the  last  sit 
ting  of  the  Chamber  of  Deputies — the  closing  scene  of 
Louis  Philippe's  government. 

It  was  about  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  that  I 
retraced  my  steps  toward  the  Tuileries.  The  Place  de 
la  Concorde  was  crowded  with  soldiers,  and  fifty  cannon 
were  ranged  in  front  of  the  gardens.  Yet  this  mighty 
force  seemed  struck  with  paralysis.  Long  lines  of 
infantry  stood  mute  and  motionless,  and  heavy  masses  of 
cavalry  seemed  converted  into  so  many  statues.  Im 
mediately  before  the  eyes  of  those  soldiers  was  the  palace 
of  the  Tuileries  in  full  possession  of  the  mob,  but  not  a 
muscle  moved  for  their  expulsion  ! 

Passing  into  the  gardens,  I  noticed  that  thousands  of 
persons  were  spread  over  their  surface,  and  a  rattling 
discharge  of  fire-arms  was  heard  on  all  sides.  Looking 
about  for  the  cause  of  this,  I  perceived  that  hundreds  of 
men  and  boys  were  amusing  themselves  with  shooting 
sparrows  and  pigeons,  which  had  hitherto  found  a  secure 
resting-place  in  this  favorite  resort  of  leisure  and  luxury. 


OWN     STORY.  293 

Others  were  discharging  their  muskets  for  the  mere  fan 
of  making  a  noise.  Proceeding  through  the  gardens,  I 
came  at  last  to  the  palace.  It  had  now  been,  for  more 
than  an  hour,  in  full  possession  of  the  insurgents.  All 
description  fails  to  depict  a  scene  like  this.  The  whole 
front  of  the  Tuileries,  one-eighth  of  a  mile  in  length, 
seemed  gushing  at  doors,  windows,  balconies,  and  galle 
ries,  with  living  multitudes — a  mighty  beehive  of  men, 
in  the  very  act  of  swarming.  A  confused  hubbub  filled 
the  air,  and  bewildered  the  senses  with  its  chaotic 
sounds. 

At  the  moment  I  arrived  the  throne  of  the  king  was 
borne  away  by  a  jubilant  band  of  revellers ;  and,  after 
being  paraded  through  the  streets,  was  burned  at  the 
Place  de  la  Bastille. 

I  entered  the  palace,  and  passed  through  the  long 
suites  of  apartments  devoted  to  occasions  of  ceremony. 
A  year  before  I  had  seen  these  gorgeous  halls  filled  with 
the  flush  and  the  fair — kings,  princes,  and  nobles — 
gathered  to  this  focal  point  of  luxury,  refinement,  and 
taste  from  every  quarter  of  the  world.  How  little  did 
Louis  Philippe,  at  that  moment,  dream  of  "  coming 
events!"  How  little  did  the  stately  queen — a  proud 
obelisk  of  silk,  and  lace,  and  diamonds — foresee  the 
change  that  was  at  hand !  I  recollected  well  the  effect 
of  this  scene  upon  my  own  mind,  and  felt  the  full  force 
of  the  contrast  which  the  present  moment  offered.  In 
the  very  room  where  I  had  seen  the  pensive  and  pensile 
Princess  de  Joinville  and  the  Duchess  de  Montpensier — 
the  latter  then  fresh  from  the  hymeneal  altar,  her  raven 
hair  studded  with  diamonds  like  evening  stars — whirling 
in  the  mazy  dance,  I  now  beheld  a  band  of  creatures  like 
Calibans,  gambolling  to  the  song  of  the  "  Marseillaise  !" 


294  PETER     PARLEY'S 

On  every  side  my  eye  fell  upon  scenes  of  destruction. 
Passing  to  the  other  end  of  the  palace,  I  beheld  a  mob  in 
the  chambers  of  the  princesses.  Some  rolled  themselves 
in  the  downy  beds,  others  anointed  their  shaggy  heads 
with  choice  pomatum,  exclaiming,  "  Dieu  !  how  sweet  it 
smells !"  One  of  the  gamins,  grimed  with  gunpowder, 
blood,  and  dirt,  seized  a  tooth-brush,  and  placing  himself 
before  a  mirror,  seemed  delighted  at  the  manifest  im 
provement  which  he  produced  upon  his  ivory. 

On  leaving  the  palace,  I  saw  numbers  of  the  men 
drinking  wine  from  bottles  taken  from  the  well-stocked 
cellars.  None  of  them  were  positively  drunk.  To  use 
the  words  of  "Tarn  O'Shanter,"  "They  were  na  fou,  but 
just  had  plenty  " — perhaps  a  little  more.  They  flour 
ished  their  guns  and  pistols,  brandished  their  swords,  and 
performed  various  antics,  but  they  offered  no  insult  to 
any  one.  They  seemed  in  excellent  humor,  and  made 
more  than  an  ordinary  display  of  French  politesse.  They 
complimented  the  women,  of  whom  there  was  no  lack ; 
and  one  of  them,  resembling  a  figure  of  Pan,  seized  a 
maiden  by  the  waist,  and  both  rigadooned  merrily  over 
the  floor. 

Leaving  this  scene  of  wreck,  confusion,  and  uproar,  I 
proceeded  toward  the  gate  of  the  gardens  leading  into 
the  Rue  de  Rivoli.  I  was  surprised  to  find  here  a  couple 
of  ruthless-looking  blousemen,  armed  with  pistols,  keep 
ing  guard.  On  inquiry,  I  found  that  the  mob  themselves 
had  instituted  a  sort  of  government.  One  fellow,  in  the 
midst  of  the  devastation  in  the  palace,  seeing  a  man  put 
something  into  his  pocket,  wrote  on  the  wall,  "  Death  to 
thieves  !"  The  Draconian  code  was  immediately  adopted 
by  the  people,  and  became  the  law  of  Paris.  Five  per 
sons,  taken  in  acts  of  robbery,  were  shot  down  by  the 


OWN      STORY.  295 

people,  and  their  bodies  exposed  in  the  streets,  with  the 
label  of  "Thief"  on  their  breast.  Thus  order  and  law 
seemed  to  spring  up  from  the  instincts  of  society,  in  the 
midst  of  uproar  and  confusion,  as  crystals  are  seen  shoot 
ing  from  the  chaos  of  the  elements. 

Three  days  had  now  passed,  and  the  revolution  was 
accomplished.  The  people  soon  returned  to  their  wonted 
habits;  the  Provisional  Government  proceeded  in  its 
duties  ;  the  baricades  disappeared  ;  and  in  a  single  week 
the  more  obtrusive  traces  of  the  storm  that  had  passed 
had  vanished  from  the  streets  and  squares  of  Paris. 


CHAPTEK    XXX. 

AFTER  THE  REVOLUTION — " FFNEBAL  OF  THE  VICTIMS" — THE  CONSTITUENT 
ASSEMBLY — PAEI8  IN  A  STATE  OF  SIEGE-j-OAVAIGNAO— LOUIS  NAPOLEON 
CHOBEN  PEESIDENT. 

IT  is  not  my  design  to  enter  into  the  history  of  the 
revolution  in  detail,  but  I  may  sketch  a  few  of  the  promi 
nent  events  which  followed.  For  this  purpose,  I  make 
an  extract  from  an  account  I  have  elsewhere  given  : — 

For  several  weeks  and  months  Paris  was  a  scene  of 
extraordinary  excitement.  The  Provisional  Government 
had  announced  that  they  would  provide  the  people  with 
labor.  Consequently,  deputations  of  tailors,  hatters,  en 
gravers,  musicians,  paviors,  cabinet-makers,  seamstresses, 
and  a  multitude  of  other  trades  and  vocations,  flocked  in 
long  lines  to  the  Hotel  de  Ville  to  solicit  the  favor  of  the 
Government.  Vast  crowds  of  people  perpetually  haunted 
this  place,  and,  in  one  instance,  a  raging  multitude  came 
thundering  at  the  doors,  demanding  that  the  blood-red 
flag  of  the  former  revolution  should  be  the  banner  of  the 
new  republic !  It  was  on  this  occasion  that  Lamartine 
addressed  the  people,  and  with  such  eloquence  as  to 
allay  the  storm  which  threatened  again  to  deluge  France 
in  blood.  The  members  of  the  Government  were  so  be 
sieged  and  pressed  by  business,  that  for  several  weeks 
they  slept  in  the  Hotel  de  Ville.  They  proceeded  with 
a  bold  hand  to  announce  and  establish  the  republic.  In 


PETER     PARLEY'S     OWN8TORY.         297 

order  to  make  a  favorable  impression  upon  the  people, 
they  decreed  a  gorgeous  ceremony  at  the  foot  of  the 
column  of  July,  on  Sunday,  February  27th,  by  which 
they  solemnly  inaugurated  the  new  republic.  All  the 
members  of  the  Provisional  Government  were  present  on 
horseback ;  there  were  sixty  thousand  troops  and  two 
hundred  thousand  people  to  witness  the  spectacle. 

Another  still  more  imposing  celebration  took  place  on 
the  4th  of  March.  This  was  called  the  "  Funeral  of  the 
Victims."  After  religious  ceremonies  at  the  Madeleine, 
the  members  of  the  Government,  with  a  long  train  of 
public  officers  and  an  immense  cortege  of  military,  pro 
ceeded  to  the  July  column,  conducting  a  superb  funeral- 
car,  drawn  by  eight  cream-colored  horses.  This  con 
tained  most  of  the  bodies  of  those  slain  in  the  revolution 
— about  two  hundred  and  fifty.  These  were  deposited 
in  the  vault  of  the  column,  with  the  victims  of  the  revo 
lution  of  1830. 

Nothing  can  adequately  portray  this  spectacle.  A  tri- 
colored  flag  was  stretched  on  each  side  of  the  Boule 
vards,  from  the  Madeleine  to  the  July  column — a  distance 
of  three  miles.  As  this  consisted  of  three  strips  of  cloth, 
the  length  of  the  whole  was  eighteen  miles !  The  solemn 
movement  of  the  funeral  procession,  the  dirge-like  music, 
the  march  of  nearly  a  hundred  thousand  soldiers,  and 
the  sympathizing  presence  of  three  hundred  thousand 
souls,  rendered  it.  a  scene  never  surpassed  and  rarely 
equalled,  either  by  the  magnificence  of  the  panorama  or 
the  solemn  and  touching  sentiments  excited. 

Still  other  spectacles  succeeded ;  and  in  the  summer 
four  hundred  thousand  people  assembled  in  the  Champa 
Elysees  to  witness  the  Presentation  of  Flags  to  the  as. 


298  PETER     PARLEY'S 

sembled  National  Guards,  eighty  thousand  being  present. 
Such  scenes  can  only  be  witnessed  in  Paris. 

Events  proceeded  with  strange  rapidity.  A  Constitu 
ent  Assembly  was  called  by  the  Provisional  Government 
to  form  a.  constitution.  The  members  were  elected  by 
ballot,  the  suffrage  being  universal — that  is,  open  to  all 
Frenchmen  over  twenty-one.  The  election  took  place  in 
April,  and  on  the  4th  of  May  the  first  session  was  held, 
being  officially  announced  to  the  assembled  people  from 
the. steps  of  the  Chamber  of  Deputies.  On  the  loth  of 
May  a  conspiracy  was  disclosed,  the  leaders  of  which 
were  Raspail,  Barbes,  Sobrier,  Caussidiere,  Blanqui, 
Flotte,  Albert,  and  Louis  Blanc — the  two  last  having 
been  members  of  the  Provisional  Government.  Caussidi 
ere  was  prefect  of  police. 

The  Assembly  proceeded  in  the  work  of  framing  a 
constitution,  administering  the  government  in  the  mean 
time.  On  the  24th  of  June  a  terrific  insurrection  broke 
out,  promoted  by  the  leaders  of  various  factions,  all  de 
siring  the  overthrow  of  the  republic  which  had  been  in 
augurated.  Cavaignac,  who  was  minister  of  war,  was 
appointed  dictator,  and  Paris  was  declared  in  a  state  of 
siege.  The  insurgents  confined  their  operations  chiefly 
to  the  fanbourgs  of  St.  Jacques  and  St.  Antoine.  They 
got  possession  of  these,  and  formed  skilful  and  able  plans 
of  operation,  which  had  for  their  ultimate  object  the  sur 
rounding  of  the  city  and  getting  possession  of  certain  im 
portant  points,  including  the  Chamber — thus  securing  the 
government  in  their  own  hands. 

Cavaignac  proceeded  to  attack  the  barricades,  thus 
clearing  the  streets  one  by  one.  The  fighting  was  terri 
ble.  For  four  days  the  battle  continued,  the  sound  of 
cannon  frequently  filling  the  ears  of  the  people  all  over 


OWN     STORY.  299 

the  city.  Night  and  day  the  inhabitants  were  shut  tip  in 
their  houses,  ignorant  of  all,  save  that  the  conflict  was 
raging.  The  women  found  employment  in  scraping  lint 
for  the  wounded.  All  Paris  was  a  camp.  The  windows 
were  closed ;  the  soldiers  and  sentinels  passed  their 
watchwords;  litters,  carrying  the  dead  and  wounded, 
were  borne  along  the  streets ;  the  tramp  of  marching 
columns  and  the  thunder  of  rushing  cavalry  broke  upon 
the  ear ! 

At  last  the  conflict  was"  over;  the  insurgents  were 
beaten — Cavaignac  triumphed.  But  the  victory  was 
dearly  purchased.  Between  two  and  three  thousand 
persons  were  killed,  and  among  them  no  less  than  seven 
general  officers  had  fallen.  The  insurgents  fought  like 
tigers.  Many  women  were  in  the  ranks,  using  the  mus 
ket,  carrying  the  banners,  rearing  barricades,  and  cheer 
ing  the  fight.  Boys  and  girls  mingled  in  the  conflict. 
The  National  Guards  who  combated  them  had  equal 
courage  and  superior  discipline.  One  of  the  Garde  Mo 
bile — Hyacinthe  Martin,  a  youth  of  fourteen — took  four 
standards  from  the  tops  of  the  barricades.  His  gallantry 
excited  great  interest,  and  Cavaignac  decorated  him  with 
the  cross  of  the  Legion  of  Honor.  He  became  a  hero 
of  the  day  ;  but — sad  to  relate ! — being  invited  to  fetes 
banquets,  and  repasts,  his  head  was  turned,  and  he  was 
soon  a  ruined  profligate. 

The  leaders  in  this  terrific  insurrection  were  never  de 
tected.  It  is  certain  that  the  movement  was  headed  by 
ible  men,  and  directed  by  skilful  engineers.  The  masses 
who  fought  were  roused  to  fury  by  poverty  and  distress — 
)y  disappointment  at  finding  the  national  workshops 
liscontinued,  and  by  stimulating  excitements  furnished  by 
Socialist  clubs  and  newspapers.  It  is  computed  that  forty 


300         PETER     PARLEY'S      OWN     STORY. 

thousand  insurgents  were  in  arms,  and  eighty  thousand 
government  soldiers  were  brought  against  them.  It  may 
be  considered  that  this  struggle  was  the  remote  hut  in 
evitable  result  of  the  course  of  the  Provisional  Govern 
ment  in  adopting  the  doctrine  of  obligation,  on  the  part 
of  the  State,  to  supply  work  and  wages  to  the  people,  and 
in  establishing  national  workshops  in  pursuance  of  this 
idea.  Still,  it  may  be  said,  on  the  other  hand,  that  noth 
ing  but  such  a  step  could  have  enabled  the  Provisional 
Government  to  maintain  itself  during  three  months,  and 
give  being  to  an  organized  Assembly  from  which  a  legit 
imate  government  could  proceed. 

The  Constitution  was  finished  in  the  autumn,  and  pro 
mulgated  on  the  19th  of  November,  1848.  On  the  10th 
of  December  following,  the  election  of  President  took 
place,  and  it  appeared  that  Louis  Napoleon  Bonaparte 
had  five  million  out  of  seven  million  votes.  He  was 
duly  inaugurated  about  a  week  after  the  election,  and 
entered  upon  the  high  duties  which  thus  devolved  upon 
him. 


CHAPTEE    XXXI. 

ras  AUTHOB'S   DUTIES  AS   CONSTTL — ASPECT    or  THINGS   IN   PARIS— LOUIS 
NAPOLEON'S  DESIGNS— TNB  2ND  OF  DECEMBER,  1852 — THE  NEW  REIGN 

OP  TERKOR  COMPLETE — LOUIS   NAPOLEON   AS   EMPEBOK— OUT   OF  OFFICE — 
BETURN   TO   NEW  TOBK — CONCLUSION. 

I  NOW  come  to  the  period  of  1851,  when  I  entered 
upon  the  consulate.  Of  the  space  during  which  I  was 
permitted  to  hold  this  office  I  have  no  very  remarkable 
personal  incidents  to  relate.  The  certifying  of  invoices, 
and  the  legalizing  of  deeds  and  powers  of  attorney, 
are  the  chief  technical  duties  of  the  American  Consul  at 
Paris.  If  he  desires  to  enlarge  the  circle  of  his  opera 
tions,  however,  he  can  find  various  ways  of  doing  it.  As, 
for  instance,  in  supplying  the  wants  of  distressed  Poles, 
Hungarians,  Italians,  and  others,  who  are  martyrs  to 
liberty,  and  suppose  the  American  heart  and  purse  always 
open  to  those  who  are  thus  afflicted ;  in  answering 
questions  from  notaries,  merchants,  lawyers,  as  to  the 
laws  of  the  different  American  States  upon  marriage, 
inheritance,  and  the  like ;  in  advising  emigrants  whether 
to  settle  in  Iowa,  or  Illinois,  or  Missouri,  or  Texas ;  in 
listening  to  inquiries  made  by  deserted  wives  as  to  where 
their  errant  husbands  may  be  found,  who  left  France  ten, 
or  twenty,  or  thirty  years  ago,  and  went  to  America,  by 
ffhich  is  generally  understood  St.  Domingo  or  Marti* 
lique.  A  considerable  business  may  be  done  in  lending 


302  PETER     PARLEY'S 

money  to  foreigners,  who  pretend  to  have  been  naturalized 
in  the  United  States,  and  are,  therefore,  entitled  to  con 
sideration  and  sympathy  :  it  being,  of  course,  well  un 
derstood  that  money  lent  to  such  persons  will  never  be 
repaid.  Some  time  and  cash  may  also  be  invested  in 
listening  to  the  stories  and  contributing  to  the  wants  of 
promising  young  American  artists,  who  are  striving  to 
get  to  Italy  to  pursue  their  studies — such  persons  usually 
being  graduates  of  the  London  school  of  artful  dodgers. 
Some  waste  leisure  and  a  good  deal  of  postage  may  be 
disposed  of  in  correspondence  with  ingenious  Americans, 
inventors  and  discoverers  :  as,  for  instance,  with  a  man  in 
Arkansas  or  Minnesota,  who  informs  you  that  he  has 
contrived  a  new  and  infallible  method  of  heating  and 
ventilating  European  cities,  and  wishes  it  brought  to  the 
notice  of  the  authorities  there,  it  being  deemed  the  duty 
of  the  American  Consul  to  give  attention  to  such  mat 
ters.  These  monotonies  are  occasionally  diversified  by  a 
letter  from  some  unfortunate  fellow-countryman  who  is 
detained  at  Mazas  or  Clichy,  and  begs  to  be  extricated ; 
or  some  couple  who  wish  to  be  put  under  the  bonds  of 
wedlock ;  or  some  enterprising  wife,  all  the  way  from 
Tennessee,  in  chase  of  a  runaway  husband ;  or  some 
inexperienced  but  indignant  youth  who  has  been  fleeced 
by  his  landlord. 

Such  are  the  duties  which  devolve  upon  the  American 
Consul  at  Paris,  the  incidents  alluded  to  having  come 
under  my  notice  while  I  was  there  in  that  capacity.  I 
must  now  speak  of  certain  public  events  which  transpired 
at  that  period,  and  which  will  ever  be  regarded  as  among 
the  most  remarkable  in  modern  history. 
•  I  have  told  you  how  Louis  Napoleon,  in  consequence 
of  the  Revolution  of  1848,  became  President  of  the 


OWN      STORY.  303 

Republic.  When  I  arrived  in  Paris,  in  April,  1851,  he 
was  officiating  in  that  capacity,  his  residence  being  the 
little  palace  of  the  Elys6e  Bourbon,  situated  between  the 
Faubourg  St.  Honore  and  the  Champs  Elysees.  The 
National  Assembly,  consisting  of  seven  hundred  and  fifty 
members,  held  their  sessions  at  the  building  called  the 
Chamber  of  Deputies.  The  Government  had  been  in 
operation  somewhat  over  two  years. 

To  the  casual  observer,  the  external  aspect  of  things 
was  not  very  different  from  what  it  had  been  under  the 
monarchy  of  Louis  Philippe.  It  is  true  that  the  palace 
of  the  Tuileries  was  vacant ;  no  royal  coaches  were  seen 
dashing  through  the  avenues ;  the  public  monuments 
everywhere  proclaimed  "liberty,  equality,  fraternity." 
But  still,  the  streets  were  filled  with  soldiers  as  before. 
Armed  sentinels  were  stationed  at  the  entrances  of  all  the 
public  buildings.  The  barracks  were,  as  usual,  swarming 
with  soldiers,  and  large  masses  of  horse  and  foot  were 
training  at  the  Champ  de  Mars  and  at  Satory.  Martial 
reviews  and  exercises  were,  indeed,  the  chief  amusement 
of  the  metropolis.  The  President's  house  was  a  palace, 
and  all  around  it  was. bristling  with  bayonets.  It  was 
obvious  that,  whatever  name  the  Government  might  bear, 
military  force  lay  at  the  bottom  of  it ;  and  if  to-day  this 
might  be  its  defence,  to-morrow  it  might  also  be  its  over 
throw. 

It  is  now  ascertained  that  Louis  Napoleon,  from  the 
beginning,  had  his  mind  fixed  upon  the  restoration  of  the 
Empire.  In  accepting  the  presidency  of  the  Republic, 
and  even  in  swearing  fidelity  to  the  Constitution,  he  con 
sidered  himself  only  as  mounting  the  steps  of  the  Im 
perial  throne. 

In  order  to  prepare  the  nation  for  the  revolution  which 


&04  PETER     PARLEY'S 

he  meditated,  Louis  Napoleon  caused  agitating  and  alarm 
ing  rumors  to  be  circulated  of  a  terrible  plot,  planned  by 
the  Democrats,  Republicans,  and  Socialists  of  France,  the 
object  of  which  was  to  overturn  the  whole  fabric  of 
society,  to  destroy  religion,  to  sweep  away  4he  obligations 
of  marriage,  to  strip  the  rich  of  their  property,  and  make 
a  general  distribution  of  it  among  the  masses.  Other 
conspiracies,  having  similar  designs,  were  said  to  exist  in 
all  the  surrounding  countries  of  Europe,  and  the  time 
was  now  near  at  hand  when  the  fearful  explosion  would 
take  place.  The  police  of  France,  subject  to  the  control 
and  direction  of  the  President,  were  instructed  to  dis 
cover  evidences  of  this  infernal  plot,  and  they  were  so 
successful,  that  the  public  mind  was  filled  with  a  vague 
but  anxious  apprehension  that  society  was  reposing  upon 
a  volcano,  which  might  soon  burst  forth  and  overwhelm 
the  whole  country  in  chaos. 

The  National  Assembly  acted  in  a  manner  to  favor 
these  schemes  of  the  Presidents.  They  were  divided 
into  four  or  five  factions,  and  spent  their  time  chiefly  in 
angry  disputes  and  selfish  intrigues.  A  portion  of  them 
were  monarchists  ;  and,  though  they  had  acquired  their 
seats  by  pledges  of  devotion  to  the  republic,  they  were 
now  plotting  its  overthrow ;  a  part  being  for  the  restora 
tion  of  the  Orleanists,  and  a  part  for  the  Bourbons. 
Another  faction  was  for  Louis  Napoleon,  and  actively 
promoted  his  schemes.  By  the  Constitution  he  was 
ineligible  for  a  second  term,  and  his  friends  were  seeking 
the  means  of  overcoming  the  difficulty,  and  giving  him 
a  re-election,  by  fair  means  or  foul.  The  Liberals  were 
divided  into  several  shades  of  opinion — some  being  Re 
publicans,  after  the  model  of  General  Cavaignac;  some 
being  Democrats,  like  Victor  Hugo ;  and  some  Socialists, 


OWN     STORY.  305 

after  the  fashion  of  Pierre  Leroux.  In  such  a  state  of 
things  there  was  a  vast  deal  of  idle  debate,  while  the 
substantial  interests  of  the  country  seemed,  if  not  totally 
forgotten,  at  least  secondary  to  the  interests  of  parties, 
and  the  passions  and  prejudices  of  individuals. 

I  remember  that  on  a  certain  Monday  evening,  the  1st 
of  December,  1852,  I  was  present  at  the  Elysee,  and  was 
then  first  introduced  to  Louis  Napoleon.  I  found  him  to 
be  an  ordinary-looking  person,  rather  under  size,  but  well 
formed,  and  with  a  dull  expression  of  countenance.  The 
room  was  tolerably  full,  the  company  consisting,  as  is 
usual  in  such  cases,  of  diplomats,  military  officers,  and 
court  officials,  with  a  sprinkling  of  citizens,  in  black 
coats.  I  was  forcibly  struck  by  the  preponderance  of 
soldiers  in  the  assembly,  and  I  said  several  times  to  my 
companions  that  it  seemed  more  like  a  camp  than  a 
palace.  The  whole  scene  was  dull ;  the  President  him 
self  appeared  preoccupied,  and  was  not  master  of  his 
usual  urbanity ;  General  Magnan  walked  from  room  to 
room  with  a  ruminating  air,  occasionally  sending  his 
keen  glances  around,  as  if  searching  for  something  which 
he  could  not  find.  There  was  no  music — no  dancing. 
That  gayety  which  almost  always  pervades  a  festive  party 
in  Paris  was  wholly  wanting.  There  was  no  ringing 
laughter —  no  merry  hum  of  conversation.  I  noticed  all 
this,  but  I  did  not  suspect  the  cause.  At  eleven  o'clock 
the  assembly  broke  up,  and  the  guests  departed.  At 
twelve,  the  conspirators,  gathered  for  their  several  tasks, 
commenced  their  operations. 

About  four  in  the  morning  the  leading  members  of  the 
Assembly  were  seized  in  their  beds,  and  hurried  to  prison. 
Troops  were  distributed  at  various  points,  so  as  to  secure 
the  city.  When  the  light  of  day  came,  proclamations 


306  PETER     PARLEY'S 

were  posted  at  the  corners  of  the  streets,  announcing  to 
the  citizens  that  the  National  Assembly  was  dissolved; 
that  universal  suffrage  was  decreed ;  that  the  Republic 
was  established  !  Such  was  the  general  unpopularity  of 
the  Assembly,  that  the  first  impression  of  the  people  was 
that  of  delight  at  its  overthrow.  Throughout  the  first 
day  the  streets  of  Paris  were  like  a  swarming  hive,  filled 
with  masses  of  people,  yet,  for  the  most  part,  in  good- 
humor.  The  second  day  they  had  reflected,  and  began 
to  frown,  but  yet  there  was  no  general  spirit  of  revolt. 
A  few  barricades  were  attempted,  but  the  operators  were 
easily  dispersed.  The  third  day  came;  and  although 
there  was  some  agitation  among  the  masses,  there  was 
evidently  no  preparation,  no  combination  for  general  re 
sistance.  As  late  as  ten  o'clock  in  the  forenoon  I  met 
one  of  the  Republicans  whom  I  knew,  and  asked  him 
what  was  to  be  done.  His  reply  was, — 

"  We  can  do  nothing ;  our  leaders  are  in  prison  ;  we 
are  bound  hand  and  foot.  I  am  ready  to  give  my  life  at 
the  barricades,  if  with  the  chance  of  benefit ;  but  I  do 
not  like  to  throw  it  away.  We  can  do  nothing !" 

Soon  after  this  I  perceived  heavy  columns  of  troops — 
some  four  thousand  men — marching  through  the  Rue  de 
la  Paix,  and  then  proceeding  along  the  Boulevards  to 
wards  the  Port  St.  Denis.  These  were  soon  followed  by 
a  body  of  about  a  thousand  horse.  I  was  told  that 
similar  bodies  were  moving  to  the  same  point  through 
other  avenues  of  the  city.  In  a  short  time  the  whole 
Boulevard,  from  the  Rue  de  la  Paix  to  the  Place  de  la 
Bastille,  an  extent  of  two  miles,  was  filled  with  troops. 
My  office  was  on  the  Boulevard  des  Italiens,  and  was 
now  fronted  by  a  dense  body  of  lancers,  each  man  with 
his  cocked  pistol  in  his  hand.  Except  the  murmur  of  the 


OWN      STORY.  307 

horses'  hoofs,  there  was  a  general  stillness  over  the  city. 
The  side-walks  were  filled  with  people ;  and  though  there 
was  no  visible  cause  for  alarm,  yet  there  was  still  a  vague 
apprehension  which  cast  pallor  and  gloom  upon  the  faces 
of  all. 

Suddenly  a  few  shots  were  heard  in  the  direction  of 
the  Boulevard  Montmartre,  and  then  a  confused  hum,  and 
soon  a  furious  clatter  of  hoofs.  A  moment  after,  the 
whole  body  of  horse  started  into  a  gallop,  and  rushed 
by  as  if  in  flight;  presently  they  halted,  however, 
wheeled  slowly,  and  gradually  moved  back,  taking  up 
their  former  position.  The  men  looked  keenly  at  the 
houses  on  either  side,  and  pointed  their  pistols  threaten 
ingly  at  all  whom  they  saw  at  the  windows.  It  afterward 
appeared,  that  when  the  troops  had  been  drawn  out  in 
line  and  stationed  along  the  Boulevard,  some  half-dozen 
shots  were  fired  into  them  from  the  tops  of  buildings  and 
from  windows :  this  created  a  sudden  panic ;  the  troops 
ran,  and,  crowding  upon  others,  caused  the  sudden  move 
ment  I  have  described.  In  a  few  moments  the  heavy, 
sickening  sound  of  muskets  came  from  the  Porte  St. 
Denis.  Volley  succeeded  volley,  and  after  some  time  the 
people  were  seen  rushing  madly  along  the  pavements  of 
the  Boulevard,  as  if  to  escape.  The  gate  of  our  h6tel 
was  now  closed,  and,  at  the  earnest  request  of  the  throng 
that  had  gathered  for  shelter  in  the  court  of  the  hotel,  I 
put  out  the  "  Stars  and  Stripes  " — the  first  and  last  time 
that  I  ever  deemed  it  necessary.  The  dull  roar  of  mus 
kets,  with  the  occasional  boom  of  cannon,  continued  at 
intervals  for  nearly  half-an-hour.  Silence  at  last  succeed 
ed,  and  the  people  ventured  into  the  streets. 

About  four  in  the  afternoon  I  walked  for  a  mile  along 
the  Boulevard.  The  pavements  were  strewn  with  the 


308  PETER     PARLEY'S 

fragments  of  shattered  windows,  broken  cornices,  and 
shivered  doorways.  Many  of  the  buildings,  especially 
those  on  the  southern  side  of  the  street,  were  thickly 
spattered  with  bullet-marks,  especially  around  the  win 
dows.  One  edifice  was  riddled  through  and  through  with 
cannon-shot.  Frequent  spots  of  blood  stained  the  side 
walk,  and  along  the  Boulevard  Montmartre,  particularly 
around  the  doorways,  there  were  pools  like  those  of  the 
shambles  ;  it  being  evident  that  the  reckless  soldiers  had 
shot  down  in  heaps  the  fugitives  who,  taken  by  surprise, 
strove  to  obtain  shelter  at  the  entrances  of  the  hotels 
upon  the  street. 

The  morning  came,  and  the  triumph  of  the  Reign  of 
Terror  was  complete.  What  was  enacted  in  Paris  was 
imitated  all  over  France.  Nearly  every  department  was 
declared  in  a  state  of  seige  ;  revolt  was  punished  with 
death,  and  doubt  or  hesitation  with  imprisonment.  Forty 
thousand  persons  were  hurried  to  the  dungeons,  without 
even  the  form  or  pretence  of  trial.  All  over  the  country 
the  press  was  silenced,  as  it  had  been  in  Paris ;  save 
only  a  few  obsequious  prints,  which  published  what  was 
dictated  to  them.  These  declared  that  all  this  bloodshed 
and  violence  were  the  necessary  result  of  the  Socialist 
conspiracy,  which  threatened  to  overturn  society ;  hap 
pily,  as  they  contended,  Louis  Napoleon,  like  a  beneficent 
Providence,  had  crushed  the  monster,  and  he  now  asked 
the  people  to  ratify  what  he  had  done,  by  making  him 
President  for  ten  years.  In  the  midst  of  agitation,  de 
lusion,  and  panic,  the  vote  was  taken,  and  Louis  Napo 
leon  was  elected  by  a  vote  of  eight  millions  of  suffrages! 
The  nominal  Republic  thus  established  soon  gave  way  to 
the  Empire  ;  the  President  reached  the  Imperial  throne, 
and  now  stands  before  the  world  as  Napoleon  III.  1 


OWN     STORY.  309 

Since  his  acquisition  of  a  throne  Louis  Napoleon  has 
conducted  the  government  with  ability,  and  he  has  cer 
tainly  been  seconded  by  fortune.  He  married  a  lady  who 
has  shed  lustre  upon  her  high  position  by  her  gentle  vir 
tues  and  gracious  manners.  He  engaged  in  the  Eastern 
War,  and  triumphed.  He  has  greatly  improved  and  em 
bellished  the  capital,  and  made  Paris  the  most  charming 
city  in  the  world  :  nowhere  else  does  life  seem  to  flow  on 
so  cheerfully  and  so  tranquilly  as  here.  He  has  gradually 
softened  the  rigors  of  his  government ;  and  though  some 
noble  spirits  still  pine  in  exile,  he  has  taken  frequent  ad 
vantage  of  opportunity  to  diminish  the  number.  The 
people  of  France,  at  the  present  time,  appear  to  be  satis 
fied  with  the  government,  and,  no  doubt,  a  large  majority, 
could  the  question  be  proposed  to  them,  would  vote  for 
its  continuance. 

In  the  summer  of  1853,1  was  politely  advised  from 
the  State  Department  that  President  Pierce  had  appoint 
ed  my  successor  in  the  consulate.  Thus,  having  held  the 
place  a  little  over  two  years,  on  the  1st  of  August,  1853, 
I  was  restored  to  the  privileges  of  private-citizen  life.  As 
I  had  various  engagements  which  forbade  me  immediately 
to  leave  France,  I  hired  a  small  house  at  Courbevoie, 
which  I  made  my  residence  till  my  departure  for  America. 

In  the  autumn  of  1854  I  set  out  with  my  family  for  a 
short  tour  in  Italy.  In  all  my  wanderings  I  had  never 
visited  this  famous  country ;  and  as  I  was  not  likely  ever 
to  have  another  opportunity,  I  felt  it  to  be  a  kind  of  duty 
to  avail  myself  of  a  few  unappropriated  weeks  to  accom 
plish  this  object.  After  visiting  Florence,  Rome,  and 
Naples,  we  returned  to  Paris.  Tarrying  there  for  a  short 
time,  for  the  purpose  of  seeing  the  International  Exhibi- 


310  PETER     PAR' LEY'S 

tion  of  1855,  we  finally  left  Europe  in  October,  and  in 
the  next  month  found  a  new  home  in  New  York. 

I  have  now  come  to  my  farewell.  Leave-takings  are 
in  general  somewhat  melancholy,  and  it  is  best  to  make 
them  as  brief  as  possible.  Mine  shall  consist  of  a  single 
train  of  thought,  and  that  suggestive  of  cheerful  rather 
than  mournful  feelings.  Like  a  traveller  approaching  the 
end  of  his  journey,  I  naturally  cast  a  look  backward,  and 
surveying  the  monuments  which  rise  up  in  the  distance, 
seek  to  estimate  the  nature  and  tendency  of  the  march 
of  events  which  I  have  witnessed,  and  in  which  I  have 
participated. 

One  general  remark  appears  to  me  applicable  to  the 
half  century  over  which  my  observation  has  extended ; 
which  is,  that  everywhere  there  has  been  improvement. 
I  know  of  no  department  of  human  knowledge,  no  sphere 
of  human  inquiry,  no  race  of  men,  no  region  of  the  earth, 
where  there  has  been  retrogression.  On  the  whole,  the 
age  has  been  alike  fruitful  in  discovery,  and  in  the  practi 
cal,  beneficial  results  of  discovery.  Science  has  advanced 
with  giant  strides ;  and  it  is  the  distinguishing  character 
istic  of  modern  science  that  it  is  not  the  mere  toy  of  the 
philosopher,  nor  the  hidden  mystery  of  the  laboratory, 
but  the  hard-working  servant  of  the  manufactory,  the 
workshop,  and  the  kitchen. 

On  every  hand  are  the  evidences  of  improvement. 
What  advances  have  been  made  in  agriculture ;  in  the 
analysis  of  soils,  the  preparation  of  manures,  the  improve 
ment  of  implements,  from  the  spade  to  the  steam-reaper ; 
in  the  manufacture  of  textile  fabrics  by  the  inventions  of 
Jacquard  and  others  in  weaving,  and  innumerable .  de 
vices  in  spinning  ;  in  the  working  of  iron — cutting,  melt- 


OWN      STORY.  311 

ing,  moulding,  rolling,  shaping  it  like  dough,  whereby  it 
is  applied  to  a  thousand  new  uses  ;  in  commerce  and  navi 
gation,  by  improved  models  of  ships,  improved  chronom 
eters,  barometers,  and  quadrants — in  chain-pumps  and 
wheel-rudders ;  in  printing,  by  the"  use  of  the  steam- 
press,  throwing  off  a  hundred  thousand  impressions  in 
stead  of  two  thousand  in  a  day ;  in  microscopes,  which 
have  revealed  new  worlds  in  the  infinity  of  littleness,  as 
well  as  in  telescopes,  which  have  unfolded  immeasurable 
depths  of  space  before  hidden  from  the  view.  How 
has  travelling  been  changed,  from  jolting  along  at  the 
rate  of  six  miles  an  hour  over  rough  roads  in  a  stage 
coach,  to  putting  one's  self  comfortably  to  bed  in  a 
steamboat  and  going  fifteen  miles  an  hour ;  or  sitting 
down  in  a  railway-carriage  to  read  a  novel,  and  before 
you  have  finished  it  to  find  yourself  two  hundred  miles 
away  ! 

And  in  the  moral  world,  the  last  fifty  years  appear 
to  me  to  have  shown  an  improvement,  if  not  as  marked, 
yet  as  certain  and  positive,  as  in  the  material  world. 
Everywhere,  as  I  believe,  the  standard  of  humanity  is 
more  elevated  than  before.  If  in  some  things,  with  the 
increase  of  wealth  and  luxury,  we  have  degenerated,  on 
the  whole  there  has  been  an  immense  advance,  as  well 
in  technical  morals  as  in  those  large  humanities  which 
aim  at  the  good  of  all  mankind. 

In  looking  at  the  political  condition  of  our  country, 
there  are  no  doubt  threatening  clouds  in  the  sky  and 
mutterings  of  ominous  thunders  in  the  distance.  I  have, 
however,  known  such  things  before;  I  have  seen  the 
country  shaken  to  its  centre  by  the  fierce  collision  of 
parties,  and  the  open  assaults  of  the  spirit  of  disunion. 
But  these  dangers  passed  away.  Within  my  memory, 


312       PETER    PARLEY'S    OWN    STORJT. 

the  states  of  the  Union  have  been  doubled  in  number, 
and  the  territory  of  the  Union  has  been  trebled  in 
extent.  This  I  have  seen;  and  as  such  has  been  the 
fact,  so  may  be,  and  so  I  trust  will  be,  the  future. 
Farewell !  • 


CHAPTER    XXXII. 

THB  DEATH   OP  PBTEE   PARLEY. 

From  the  London  Welcome  Guest. 

Friend  of  my  youth !  Delightful  instructor  of  my 
early  days  !  Thou  kindly  soul,  who  labored  so  patiently 
to  expand  ray  unopened  mind,  and  inspire  it  with  a  be 
coming  interest  in  the  world  in  which  it  had  but  lately 
awakened !  Benevolent  traveller,  who  led  my  innocence 
gently  by  the  hand  through  all  the  countries  of  the 
earth,  and  chatted  intelligibly  with  me  of  their  strangely 
varying  customs,  their  wonderful  histories,  their  diverse 
climates,  and  productions,  and  capacities!  Thou  that, 
in  the  first  budding  of  my  young  ideas,  pointed  out  to 
me  the  glories  of  the  starry  night,  and  the  marvels  of  the , 
vasty  deep ;  that  couldst  sympathize  with  my  untaught 
childhood,  and  adapt  thy  immeasurable  learning  to  its 
little  wants,  and  powers,  and  likings,  and  intertwine  thy 
omniscient  narrative  with  absorbing  adventures  that  en 
thralled  its  whole  soul,  and  thrilled  its  wondering  bosom, 
and  upraised  the  hairs  that  as  yet  but  thinly  covered  its 
tender  pate !  May  my  right  hand  forget  its  cunning, 
thou  large-hearted  benefactor,  if  I  permit  thee  to  pass 
away  into  Hades  all  unheralded  !  That  stingy  paragraph 
in  a  print  that  is  read  to-day  and  handed  into  oblivion 
to-morrow,  is  no  meed  worthy  of  thee,  Peter  Parley. 
27 


814  PETBK     PARLEY'S 

Thou  meritest  a  more  bounteous  memorial.  Thy  name 
is  known  far  and  wide ;  and  countless  eyes,  as  they  read 
in  these  pages  that  thou  hast  entered  the  Land  of 
Shadows,  shall  be  dimmed  with  grateful  recollection. 

If  it  may  be  allowed  a  copy  of  the  WELCOME  GUEST 
to  journey  beyond  the  postal  arrangements  of  this 
world,  and  to  meet  the  disembodied  eyes  of  the  other 
one,  I  wish  that  the  concession  may  be  made  to  this  cur 
rent  number,  and  that  it  may  be  placed  in  Peter  Parley's 
hands,  as  he  sits  in  honor  amid  his  new  fellows.  Then 
shall  his  gentle  shade  rejoice  to  know  that  we,  his  chil 
dren,  who  used  to  gather  around  his  knees,  so  to  say, 
when  he  was  still  in  the  flesh,  many  long  years  since,  are 
not  ungrateful  for  his  care  of  us,  but  cherish  a  most  fond 
remembrance  of  it ! 

It  was  but  last  May  the  hand  that  had  written  so 
pleasantly  and  so  usefully  grew  chill,  and  the  pen  fell 
from  its  unnerved  grasp.  No  fresh  travels  of  Peter 
Parley  shall  we  have  reported  to  us.  Whatever  his 
journeyings  may  not  be — however  weirdly  novel,  and 
thrilling,  and  strange — we  cannot  hope  for  any  record  of 
them.  No  sojourner  in  that  land  has  ever  yet  returned 
to  give  us  his  account  of  it.  No  pencillings  by  the  way, 
no  fine  descriptions  of  landscape  or  people,  no  notes  of 
its  ways  and  manners,  ever  reach  us  from  the  other  side 
of  the  dividing  river.  So  Peter  Parley  will  observe  and 
record  for  us  never  again. 

Which  of  Peter  Parley's  numerous  writings  did  you 
give  the  preference  to,  my  reader  ?  There  was  a  capital 
story  about  a  sailor  boy  in  the  Tales  of  the  Sea,  if  you 
remember.  To  me  that  young  Crusoe  endeared  the  whole 
volume.  I  confess  the  facts  with  which  every  page  was 


OWN     STORY.  315 

stored  have  escaped  me  somewhat ;  but  oh !  how  well 
I  recollect  the  sailor  boy ! 

Do  you  remember  that  picture  which  served  as  the 
frontispiece  of  the  Tales  of  the  Stars  ?  There  was  old 
Peter  himself,  with  a  crowd  of  us — his  curly-headed 
darlings — all  round  him.  The  stars,  if  my  memory 
serves  me,  are  shining  with  unwonted  brightness  upon 
the  interesting  group,  and  upon  a  celestial  globe  which 
occupies  the  left  side  of  the  scene.  If  my  memory 
serves  me,  I  say  ;  but  ay  me !  the  lapse  of  many  years 
has  much  impaired  it,  I  fear,  and  the  vision  I  call  before 
me  of  that  primeval  period,  is  somewhat  a  broken  and 
fragmentary  one. 

I  cannot  stay  to  mention  all  the  members  of  the 
library  with  which  Peter  Parley  and  our  governess,  acting 
with  a  sweet  consent,  supplied  us.  There  were  some 
pleasant  passages  in  the  Tales  of  Animals.  I  still  vividly 
remember  the  panther  and  the  lion,  which  appeared  upon 
that  stage.  I  cannot  say  why  I  remember  them  above 
all  others,  any  more  than  I  can  say  why  many  things 
connected  with  my  early  youth  have  remained  in  my 
memory,  whilst  a  thousand  other  incidents  of  equal  im-, 
portance  have  vanished  utterly  from  it.  All  I  know  is, 
that  I  especially  remember  the  panther  and  the  lion  in 
Mr.  Parley's  famous  zoological  work. 

But,  in  my  opinion,  Peter  Parley's  most  triumphant 
effusion — his  chef  d'ceuvre — the  work  on  which  his  fame 
will  undoubtedly  rest  in  the  judgment  of  an  admiring 
posterity  of  infants — the  ne  plus  ultra  of  his  great 
powers,  in  which  the  astonishing  grace  of  his  style 
reaches  its  highest  perfection,  and  his  knowledge  is  sur 
passed  only  by  the  facility  and  the  kindliness  with  which 
he  imparts  it — his  crowning  effort  is — need  I  name  it  ? 


316  PETEE     PARLEY'S 

Shall  I  not  be  accused  of  penning  truisms  ?  Of  course  I 
mean  his  Travels  through  Europe,  Asia,  Africa,  and 
America. 

Let  that  be  a  red-lettered  day  in  my  calendar  when 
I  entered  upon  those  travels.  Blessed  be  the  dear 
maternal  hand  that  gave  them  to  me !  Once  more, 
standing  by  her  side — the  kind  hand  the  while,  I  doubt 
not,  smoothing  my  roughened  locks,  the  gentle  tongue 
patiently  helping  my  tardy  utterance — I  spell  out  the 
opening  chapters.  Gather  round  me  now,  O  pleasant 
company,  into  which  I  was  then  introduced.  Be  seated 
again  at  thy  round  table,  0  Parley  !  with  those  delight 
ful  guests  around  thee,  and  let  me  listen  to  thy  wonderful 
stories.  Be  present  with  me,  ye  shades.  If,  O  Pluto  ! 
thou  hast  them  in  thy  keeping,  I  pray  thee  to  grant  them 
a  brief  furlough,  that  I  may  know  them  once  more. 

Come,  0  Jenkins  !  bravest  of  men  ;  come  in  that  pea- 
green  jacket,  in  which  thou  presentest  thyself  to  the 
astonished  Parley  at  the  end  of  the  travels  in  Europe. 
"Tis  a  bleak  night,  and  Parley,  resting  by  his  blazing  fire 
from  all  his  Continental  labors,  thinks,  good  soul !  of  his 
absent  friends,  and  of  course  of  thee,  Jenkins.  Presently 
a  knock  is  heard  at  the  door,  and  Parley,  answering  it — 
he  kept  no  lounging  John  Thomases  in  his  unostentatious 
establishment — beholds  a  pea-green  jacket.  Enters  the 
jacket,  and  shakes  itself.  Wonders  the  simple  Parley, 
not  having  the  remotest  idea,  you  know,  who  this  intrud 
ing  garment  is.  Can  it  be  ? — yes  of  course,  it  is — 
Jenkins.  Is  not  that  a  grand  denouement  ?  I  say  the 
recognition  of  Orestes  by  Electra,  in  the  Greek  play,  so 
much  bragged  about  by  the  Scholiasts  and  that  lot,  is  not 
fit  to  hold  a  candle  to  it,  to  speak  metaphorically.  Is  it 
not  Jenkins  that  I  see  in  Asia,  defending  himself  stoutly, 
27* 


OWN      STORY.  317 

in  the  midst  of  an  arid  plan,  against  a  mounted  Arab  ? 
The  child  of  the  desert  is  urging  his  barb  straight  upon 
the  brave  fellow.  Hard  by  may  be  seen  a  small  fire  01 
sticks,  which  our  hungry  but  injudicious  friend  has 
kindled,  with  a  view  to  cooking  him  a  mutton  chop,  or 
some  such  dainty.  My  wishes  are  for  thy  welfare, 
Jenkins  !  My  blessings  on  thy  valor,  incomparable  man  ! 
That  is  Leo,  I  think,  that  I  see  in  such  a  heartrending 
condition  on  board,  or  rather  on  the  boards  of  yonder 
wreck,  while  the  omnipresent  genius  of  Peter  Parley  is 
being  tossed  in  wave-blankets  some  little  way  off.  Yes,  I 
know  him ;  that  is  Leo.  Parley,  the  chivalrous  Parley, 
saves  his  life  upon  that  occasion,  and  earns  his  lasting 
gratitude.  I  doubt  whether  Leo's  character  will  bear 
investigation  ;  he  comes  to  great  grief  in  the  end.  But 
I  like  him  for  his  grateful  services  to  his  deliverer  ;  and  I 
like  him  for  the  mysterious  air  there  is  about  him,  and 
for  his  thrilling  adventures.  He  wanders  all  over  the 
world  in  a  black  mantle,  nobody  knows  why ;  at  least  I 
do  not,  and  have  no  desire  to  know.  I  suppose  he  found 
a  secret  satisfaction  in  roaming  everywhere  inside  that 
cloak,  and  that  is  enough  for  me.  There  are  three, 
pictures  in  the  whole  work  that  I  feel  an  intense  interest 
in  ;  and  one  has  to  do  with  Leo.  It  is  when  he  escapes 
from  that  prison  built  into  the  lake  ;  just  as  the  prisoner 
of  Chillon  would  have  been  overjoyed  to  escape,  had  he 
nad  the  knack  and  vigor  of  our  hero.  The  particular 
scene  of  the  act  which  the  delightful  artist  (what  was  his 
name  ?  which  are  his  pictures  in  the  National  Gallery  ?) 
has  been  good  enough  to  delineate,  is  our  Jack  Shepherd 
holding  on  to  his  prison-window  by  the  only  remaining 
bar.  Of  course  he  is  accompanied  by  the  cloak,  which 
the  breezes  of  the  night  are  swelling  into  a  globular  form. 


318  PETER      PARLEY'S 

Some  dozen  feet  below  the  cloak,  sparkles  in  the  moon 
light  the  water,  into  which  the  fugitive  proposes  to^drop, 
as  soon  as  the  artist  has  done  with  him.  'Tis  a  dismal 
prospect  for  thee,  Leo.  May  the  daughters  of  the  lake 
bear  up  thy  chin !  I  have  a  fond  belief  that  he  is  not 
to  be  drowned  at  present.  We  are  only  in  Asia  now, 
and  we  shall  want  him  many  a  time  yet  in  the  other  two 
quarters. 

Who  is  that  sailor  I  see  crouching  on  that  bank  ? 
Above  his  head  is  a  most  truculent-looking  tiger ;  below 
him  is  an  infuriated  crocodile.  Do  you  talk  to  me  of 
dramatic  effect,  Aristarchus,  in  those  tomes  you  are 
always  maudling  over  ?  I  defy  you  and  your  tribe,  sir 
rah,  to  produce  me  a  situation  so  breath-stopping,  so 
blood-chilling,  so  every  way  effective,  as  the  opening  scene 
of  Asia.  That  is  a  good  hit  in  the  Winter's  Tale,  by  a 
play-wright  called  Shakspeare,  when  "  exit  Antigonus, 
pursued  by  a  bear."  But  can  it  be  compared — I  appeal 
to  all  unprejudiced  infants — with  that  first  chapter  of  our 
Second  Expedition  ?  Was  ever  a  mortal  in  so  dire  an 
extremity  ?  Scylla  and  Charybdis,  to  my  mind,  are  a 
joke  to  it.  But  Parley  rescues  him,  and  without  any  of 
your  Dei  ex  machinA  ;  though,  if  there  ever  was  a  knot 
that  seemed  to  require  a  Deity's  fingers  for  its  unravelling, 
this  surely  was  it.  Of  course,  he  rescues  him ;  for  it  is 
not  Parley's  way,  whatever  other  people  may  do,  to  hurl 
his  valiant  souls  prematurely  into  Hades,  and  make  them 
a  prey  to  dogs  and  vultures. 

I  have  said  that  there  were  three  pictures  in  the  Tra/els 
that  especially  entranced  me,  and  I  have  mentioned  one 
of  them.  Now  for  the  other  two.  The  first  represents 
the  famous  Parley  himself,  the  English  Herodotus,  play 
ing  with  a  spider  in  that  unwholesome  dungeon  at  Tri- 


OWN      STORY.  319 

poli.  Poor  Parley  !  He  had  his  little  troubles  now  and 
then.4  There  can  be  no  doubt  that  he  is  in  a  tremendous 
scrape  at  this  time.  But  his  genial  temper  is  unruffled  ; 
he  makes  friends  at  once  with  his  tiny  fellow-tenant,  and 
I  dare  say  is,  even  now,  meditating  some  Tales  of  Insects 
for  your  and  my  benefit.  He  reminds  me  rather  of  Gold 
smith,  making  observations  for  his  History  of  the  Earth 
and  Animated  Nature.  There  is  the  same  innocence, 
the  same  benignity,  the  same  childish  look  of  innocence 
about  him.  I  have  no  doubt  the  spider  is  become  much 
attached  to  him.  I  lisp  out  my  good  wishes  for  thee, 
thou  even-minded  captive.  I  place  my  small  palm  upon  thy 
unkempt  head,  and  bless  thee.  We  are  not  kept  long  in 
suspense  about  him.  A  night  soon  arrives  when  Leo's 
cloak  insinuates  itself  into  his  cell,  and  a  voice  is  heard 
In  its  folds  saying,  "  Follow  me,"  and  Parley  follows,  even 
as  St.  Peter  followed  the  angel,  and  they  reach  a  wharf, 
and  fire  a  pistol,  and  a  boat  pulls  in  to  the  shore,  and 
they  embark  in  it,  and  Parley  is  once  more  a  free  man^ 
and  addresses  himself  afresh  to  his  travels. 

My  last  wood-cut  portrays  this  indefatigable  wanderer 
a  second  time  oppressed  by  the  hard  fates.  He  is  in 
America  this  time,  and  by  some  misfortune  (a  great  good 
fortune  to  me  and  to  you,  my  young  brethren  and  sisters 
of  the  nursery)  has  been  made  the  prey  of  an  Indian 
tribe.  Me  miserum  !  The  savages  have  tied  him  to  a 
tree.  There  are  those  hands  that  have  guided  that  im 
mortal  pen  through  Europe,  Asia,  and  Africa,  corded 
stringently  to  a  triste  lignum  in  America !  There  he 
stands,  denuded  of  his  raiment,  and  with  a  writhing  ex 
pression  all  over  him ;  for  the  sportive  innocents  of  the 
tribe  are  amusing  their  leisure  hours  by  shooting  their 
youthful  arrows  at  him.  Yes ;  they  are  making  a  target 


320      PETEK     PARLEY'S     OWN      STORY. 

of  poor  P.  P.  0  !  my  fellow-students,  think  what  this 
great  heart  suffers  for  us  !  During  all  that  agony  he  is 
gathering  information  for  our  benefit,  is  writing  for  us 
another  incomparable  chapter,  is  taking  stock  of  yonder 
wigwams. 

But  the  page  is  growing  indistinct  before  me,  and  I 
hear  voices  saluting  me  from  the  nursery,  not  as  a  child, 
but  as  a  veteran.  Can  it  be  ?  No ;  impossible !  And 
Peter  Parley  and  his  brave  company  recede  mournfully 
to  their  land,  wherever  it  is,  and  my  hair  is  a  trifle  grey, 
or  that  mirror  lies. 

Farewell,  my  good  Peter.  Fare  ye  well,  my  stout 
Jenkins,  my  mysterious  Leo,  and  all  ye  other  fine  fellows. 
I  rejoice  to  have  met  you  once  more,  and  to  have  spent 
a  pleasant  hour  with  you,  and  talked  over  our  old  com 
panionship. 


THE    END. 


nnn  *  "  "      i 

U001997QO    e 


